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Mary's Ankle 



By MAY TULLY 




SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th St^ New York 



MRS. PARTRIDGE PRESENTS 

Comedy in 3 acts. By Mary Kennedy and Buth Ha.w< 
tSiorne. 6 males^ 6 females. Modem costumes. 2 interiors 
Plays 2% hours. 

The characters, scenes and situations are thoronglily Tip*lo- 
date in this altogether delightful American comedy. The heroina 
is a woman of tremendous energy, who manages a business — as 
dhe manages everything — ^with great success, and at home pre- 
sides over the destinies of a growing son and daughter. Her 
Biruggle to give the children the opportunities she herself had 
missed, and the children's ultimate revolt against her well-meant 
management — ^that is the basis of the plot. The son who is cast 
for the part of artist and the daughter who is to go on the stage 
offer numerous opportunities for the development of the eomio 
possibilities in the theme. 

The play is one of the most delightful, yet thought-provokkiir 
American comedies of recent years, and is warmly recommended 
to ftU amateur groups. (Boyalty on application.) Price, 75 Oenta, 



IN THE NEXT ROOM 

Melodrama in 3 acts. By Eleanor Bobson and Harriet 
Ford. 8 males^ 3 females. 2 interiors. Modem eostnmet. 
Plays 2l^ hours. 

"Philip Yantine has bought a rare eopy of an original Boule 
cabinet and ordered it shipped to his New York home from Paria. 
When it arrives it is found to be the original itself, the pos- 
•assion of which is desired by many strange people. Before the 
mystery concerned with the cabinet's shipment can be cleared 
up, two persons meet mysterious death fooling with it and the 
happiness of many otherwise happy actors is threatened*' (Buma 
Hantle). A first-rate mystery play, comprising all the elements 
of suspense, curiosity, comedy and drama. **In the Next Room'* 
is quite easy to stage. It can be unreservedly recommended to 
kigh fichooU and colleges^ (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) 

Price, 75 Cents. 



SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New Yock Qtr 
Our New Descriptive Catalogue S«at Free on Request 



MARY'S ANKLE 



A FARCICAL DISPLAY IN THREE VIEWS 



BY 
MAY TULLY 



Copyright, 1916, by May Gertrude Tully 
Copyright, 1932, by Samuel French 



All Rights Reserved 

CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that 
"MARY'S ANKLE," being fully protected under the copyright 
laws of the United States of America, the British Empire, in- 
cluding the Dominion of Canada, and the other countries of the 
Copyright Union, is subject to a royalty, and anyone presenting 
the play without the consent of the owners or their authorized 
agents will be liable to the penalties by law provided. Applica- 
tions for the amateur acting rights must be made to Samuel 
French, at 25 West 45th Street, New York City, or at 811 West 
7th Street, Los Angeles, Calif. 



SAMUEL FRENCH, Inc. 

25 West 45th Street, New York, N. Y. 

811 West 7th Street, Los Angeles, Calif. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street, Strand, W.C.2, London 



'MARY'S ANKLE" 



ym 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED' 



V' 



1 



Especial notice should be taken that the possession of this 
book without a valid contract for production first having 
been obtained from the publisher confers no right or license 
to professionals or amateurs to produce the play publicly or 
in private for gain or charity. 

In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading 
public only, and no performance, representation, production, 
recitation, public reading or radio broadcasting may be given 
except by special arrangement with Samuel French, at 25 
West 45th Street, New York City, or at 811 West 7th Street, 
Los Angeles, Calif. 

This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment of 
a royalty of Twenty-Five Dollars for each performance, pay- 
able to Samuel French, at 25 West 45th Street, New York, 
or at 811 West 7th Street, Los Angeles, Calif., one week 
before the date when the play is given. 

Whenever the play is produced the following notice must 
appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the 
play: ^'Produced by special arrangement with Samuel French." 

Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for any 
infringement of the author^s rights, as follows: 

"Section 4966: — Any person publicly performing or repre- 
senting any dramatic or musical composition for which copy- 
right has been obtained, without the consent of the oroprietor 
of said dramatic or musical composition, or his 1 eirs and 
assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, such damages in 
all cases to be assessed at such sum, not less than ^ne hun- 
dred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for ever\^, subse- 
quent performance, as to the court shall appear to be just. 
If the unlawful performance and representation be wilful and 
for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty of a mis- 
demeanor, and upon conviction shall be imprisoned for a 
period not exceeding one year." — U. S. Revised Statutes: 
Title 60, Chap. 3. 



SEP -9 1932 

©ClDpubl18090 



TMPS6-006720 




Copy of original program of "MARY'S ANKLE," as pro- 
duced at the Bijou Theatre, New York: 

A. H. WOODS 
(In association with Rosalie Stewart and May Tully) 

Presents 

"MARY'S ANKLE" 

A Farcical Display in Three Views 

By MAY TULLY 

CAST 

Doctor Hampton (Doc) Bert Lytell 

G. P. Hampton (G. P.) Walter Jones 

Stokes T,W. Gibson 

Chub Leo Donnelly 

Mary Jane Smith Irene Fenwick 

Clementine (Clem) Louise Drew 

Mrs. Burns Adelaide Prince 

Mrs. Merrivale Zelda Sears 

Steward Barnet Parker 

Expressman Wm. /. Morrisey 

SYNOPSIS OF SCENES 

Act L The combined office and living room of Dr. 
Hampton in Mrs. Merrivale's house 
in New York City. 

Act IL The same. Ten days later. 

Act III. Deck of the Steamship Bermudian. One hour 
later. 

Time: The present. 



THE CHARACTERS 

Doctor Hampton — "Doc" : A most attractive and 
enthusiastic young chap, who has just complet- 
ed his required interneship in one of the larger 
city hospitals and set up an office of his own. 
He is surrounded by loving friends but, as yet, 
no patients. His magnetic personality, however, 
plus his great charm of manner, his quality of 
never being too down to bounce, his interest in 
and sweetness to everybody with whom he 
comes in contact, mark him instantly as one of 
the few born to be successful. So it is merely 
a matter of watchful waiting for that first pa- 
tient — that first patient so necessary to the 
building up of a doctor s large and profitable 
practice, 

Stokes — "Stoksie" : One of '"Doc"' Hampton's lov- 
ing friends, who has chosen the Law as his 
means of providing himself with daily bread 
and butter, but who is now beginning to doubt 
the wisdom of his choice because of the fact 
that no one is showing any signs of needing his 
legal services and the very thought of going out 
after clients and business is more than his quiet, 
studious soul can bear. He is at his best behind 
a pipe, book or desk. 

*'Chub": Another of ''Doc'' Hampton's loving 
friends, whose tongue keeps pace with his 
thoughts but who, for all his chatter, is sincere. 
He verges on the fresh but is never in any way 
obnoxious. His ambition is to make a name 
and fortune for himself. 

4 



DESCRIPTION OF CHARACTERS 5 

Clementine : Mrs. Merrivales common, calculat- 
ing, shrill-voiced and acid-tongued daughter, 
who, with all her faults, is absolutely honest and 
without affectation. Her mother, with her fan- 
cied invalidism, is the proverbial red rag to her 
and is only tolerated by her as the easiest way 
out of a difficult family situation. 

Mrs. Merrivale : ''Doc'' Hampton's landlady, who 
has made his maintaining an office in her 
house, without so much as a sign of a patient, a 
possibility because of her weakness for doctors' 
services and her constant enjoyment of poor 
health. Although she has never known a day's 
real illness in her life, she has turned herself 
into a hypochondriac to avoid housework and to 
obtain for herself the most attention for the 
least exertion. She has ever labored under the 
delusion that she is cultured and attractive, 
while dressing and looking the part of a co- 
quette. 

Mary Jane Smith : ''Doc" Hampton's first patient, 
due to the fact that her car crashed just outside 
his door. She is the Junior League girl of to- 
day — expensively simple in dress, with that 
priceless well-bred assurance resulting from al- 
ways having and doing the best with the best. 
Romantic and susceptible, she succumbs to 
"Doc's" magnetic personality, inwardly, while, 
outwardly, her sense of humor keeps them all 
guessing. 

Mrs. Burns: Mary's Aunt, who is a charming, 
beautifully gowned lady with all the social 
graces of one to the manor born, and possess- 
ing, in addition, a delightful sense of humor. 
For all her apparent outward femininity and 
softness she can be rock firm when, in her opin- 
ion, occasion demands. 



6 DESCRIPTION OF CHARACTERS 

G. P. Hampton : ''Doc*' Hampton's uncle, who is a 
vital, blustering, gruff, but perfectly harmless, 
business man with a hearty laugh and a stacatto 
manner of clipping off his words, which add 
importance to himself and what he says. His 
pleasure is in controlling situations and people, 
and he has managed successfully to keep his 
young nephew in awe of him by holding the 
strings of his money-bags in a rather tight fist 
and assuming a forbidding facial expression. In 
reality, he is quite lenient, most generous, and 
exceedingly pleasant. 

The Steward: Who is always on deck with his 
constant and annoying subservient intrusions, 
whether wanted or not. He has an unconscious- 
ly humorous rhythmic walk which suggests ef- 
femmacy, but not distastefully, and an uncon- 
trollable little break in his voice when he is most 
intense which invariably brings on an embar- 
rassed nervous giggle that wilt only cease when 
he gulps abruptly. He is the only one attaching 
any importance to himself. 



MARY'S ANKLE 



ACT ONE 

Scene: Combined office and living room of Dr. 
Hampton. 

It is a front parlor of a furnished-room house 
in the Sixties between Lexington and Third 
Avenues, New York, Dr. Hampton has but re- 
cently graduated from college. His room is 
furnished in r. side as an office and on the l. 
as a living room. There is a couch on which he 
sleeps, a desk, table with instruments, practical 
wash-basin, cabinet, doctor's screen, dressing- 
table, bookcase, some easy chairs, etc. There is 
a door up l. to street; door r.c. to bathroom; 
windows down R. and l. The blinds are down 
and LIGHTS yi up. 

As Curtain Rises : Stokes is discovered wrapped 
in blanket on Doctor's operating or examining 
chair. His shoes are Left of chair. Doctor is 
asleep on couch. After a moment there is a 
KNOCK on the l. door. This is repeated sev- 
eral times until the Doctor awakens and hastily 
slips on bathrobe and slippers. He moves cau- 
tiously to door and stands with ear to crack, 
listening. 

7 



8 MARY'S ANKLE acti 

Doc. (Softly) Who is it? 

Chub. (Off stage) It's Chub — let me in. 

Doc. (Turns key in door hut doesn't bother open- 
ing it. Falls back on couch as Chub enters) You 
have your nerve waking people up in the middle of 
the night. 

Chub. (Has newspaper in his hand. It is opened 
at the financial page) Middle of the night? Why, 
the day's almost over! 

Doc. What time is it? (Half rising,) 

Chub. (Raises blind l. LIGHTS Yz up) Ten 
o'clock — ^your office hours. Get up and be ready for 
business. How do you expect to get along if you 
sleep all day? 

Doc. (Leaning elbow on pillow) Dry up. 

Chub. (During this Chub pulls up blind, letting 
in a flood of sunlight. LIGHTS now full up. It 
blinds Doc on the couch and disturbs Stokes^ who 
moves uneasily on chair) Remember the story of 
the Wise Virgin who kept her lamp trimmed. 

Doc. Yes, but I'm no Virgin — and I have no 
lamp. (Yazvns. Stokes has lain as still as a dead 
man, sheet up over his head. He suddenly hears 
noise and sits up, pulling off sheet.) 

Chub. (Sees Stokes} Doc, what the deuce 

Who 

. Stokes. (Stirs in chair and finally wakes) What's 
the row? 

Chub. (Crossing to r. j Look who's here ! I didn't 
notice you, Stoksie. (Breaks operating chair, spill- 
ing Stokes on the floor.) 

Stokes. That's nothing, Chub — I don't even no- 
tice myself lately. 

Chub. (Sees chafing-dish and three empty beer 
bottles on Doc's desk) Ah — ha! No wonder you 
two couldn't get up after carousing all night. Look 
at this. Three bottles of beer and a welsh rarebit — 
that must have cost a couple of dollars. (With a 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 9 

very superior air) And still you fellows wonder why 
you don't succeed ! (There is a KNOCK at the door 
L. Doc jumps up.) 

Doc. Who is it ? 

Clem. (Off stage) Can I fix your room up now ? 

Doc. Yes — ^just a minute. 

Clem. It's after ten. 

Doc. Get into the bathroom, Stoksie. I don't want 
her to know that you were here last night. Chub, 
sit over there and be a patient. (During above 
Clem ad libs, off stage — '^'Let me come in, I can't 
wait all day. Have other work to do,'' Doc pushing 
beer bottles in doctor's medical case and chafing- 
dish in the bottom drawer of desk, also throws com- 
forter and pillow from examining-chair to the 
couch) Come in. 

Clem. (Enters with carpet-sweeper and towels 
and duster) I knocked twict before but nobody an- 
swered. 

Doc. I was up quite late last night on an urgent 
case. 

Clem. (Suspiciously) Case of what? (Chub 
has difficulty in suppressing laugh. He is sitting on 
E. windozv ledge. Stokes is in bathroom, dressing,) 

Doc. You'll pardon my being dressed like this. 

Clem. Yes — it is kinda loud, ain't it? (She 
walks to washbasin. As she passes desk she sniffs 
audibly) What a funny smell. 

Doc. (Realizing she smells cheese in the chafing- 
dish) Yes — it's a medicinal odor. 

Clem. It smells cheesy to me. (Puts Doctor^s 
grip on the floor. Doc takes the towels. There is a 
rattle of bottles inside grip as she does so) Medici- 
nal bottles, I suppose? 

Doc. Yes. 

Clem. I know your office hours are supposed to 
be from ten to four, and as I ain't never seen no 
crowd waiting at ten, I thought if I was a few min- 



lo MARY'S ANKLE acti 

utes late it wouldn't hurt. (Crosses to couch. Chub 
has been trying to keep silent but coughs aloud at 
this. Doc gathers his clothes, preparing to go to 
bathroom to dress) My Gawd! He has got a pa- 
tient! (Her attitude changes entirely) I won't be 
a minute, sir. (She folds up bedclothes hurriedly 
and puts them in the closet c. during the ensuing 
scene.) 

Doc. (To ChubJ You'll excuse me while I dress. 
(Goes into bathroom.) 

Chub. Certainly, Doctor. 

Clem. I had no idea there was a patient waiting. 

Chub. That's quite all right, I'm sure. 

Clem. I'll just fix up the bed and I'll come back 
later and clean out the room. I was only joking 
with the Doctor just now when I said I ain't seen 
no patients here. Maybe he has some but / ain't seen 
any — ^that's all. 

Chub. Oh, you surprise me. 

Clem. (Very confidentially) But don't let that 
interfere with you. Goodness knows I don't want to 
be the cause of his losing a patient. We've rent 
this front parlor to a doctor ever since we've had 
this house, and there ain't none of them ever been 
any good, to my way of thinkin'. (Still lower voice) 
He's too young to suit me. 

Chub. But all doctors must begin some time. 

Clem. (Starts up c.) Sure — ^but they don't have 
to begin on me. I ain't knocking him, only I wish 
Maw would rent the parlor to someone who'd pay. 
(Takes sheets and spread to closet. Stokes sneaks 
out for his shoes and is almost seen by Clem. Door 
of bathroom partly open and Doc and Stokes are 
seen from here on.) 

Chub. Do you mean to say that Doctor Hampton 
doesn't pay his rent ? 

Clem. (Back to couch) He never gets a chance 
in this house. You know, Maw thinks she is an 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE ii 

invalid. There ain't a disease in the world she ain't 
had — or hopes to have. She swears by Dr. Hamp- 
ton. He treats her and she lets him have this room 
rent free, (Takes pillows to closet,) 

Chub. Oh— ho! That's it, is it? 

Clem. That's what? 

Chub. (Catching himself) That's what he does, 

Clem. Yes, that's what he does. It suits Maw 
and it suits Dr. Hampton, I guess. The only person 
it don't suit is me. 

Chub. No? 

Clem. No (Slams closet door. Comes to 

couch with sofa-pillows) As long as there's a doc- 
tor in the house Maw thinks she's sick, and as long 
as Maw thinks she's sick I have to do all the work. 
That's why I'm down on the medical profession. 
(Hits pillozv, Stokes appears from bathroom, 
laughing silently. Doc reaches out violently and 
pulls him back, Clem keeps on talking) However, 
there ain't no use kicking. (Gathers up her things) 
Goodbye. (She exits l. Chub falls on couch, laugh- 
ing, Stokes comes from bathroom, dressed. He is 
also convulsed with laughter. Doc follows, partly 
dressed.) 

Chub. Now I know your secret, Doc. Now I 
know how you manage to stay in one house so long 
while Stoksie and I have been hopping from one 
hall bedroom to another like a couple of mountain 
goats. (Stokes laughs. Doc goes to bathroom to 
finish dressing.) Say, by the way, boys. Steel has 
gone up to a hundred and thirty. 

Stokes. (Sarcastically) You don't say. 

Chub. Remember I gave you a tip on that when 
it was selling at seventy-two. 

Stokes. (With mock seriousness) You did? 

Chub. Do you know what you would have made 
if you had followed by tip? A thousand dollars in- 
vested at seventy-two — ^it's now a hundred and 



12 MARY'S ANKLE acti 

thirty — that would be fifty-eight thousand dollars* 
profit. Think of that — fifty-eight thousand dollars! 

Stokes. I can't think of it. There's only one 
trouble with that tip, Chub. 

Chub. What is that? 

Stokes. You didn't tip me off how to get the 
thousand. 

Chub. Oh — of course 

Stokes. Now, what's the use of raving this way. 
Chub? You're broke, Doc's riding on a flat tire, 
and I rattle like a set of bones in a minstrel show, 
and yet you come here day after day and tell us how 
to clean up Wall Street. 

Doc. What's he doing, Stokes? (Comes fully 
dressed from bathroom) Telling you how much 
money you could make if you could make some 
money? How is it with you, Chub — ^you seemed in 
good spirits when you first came in? 

Chub. (Crossing to desk) Well — nothing defi- 
nite, but I have a couple of good things in view. 
(Stokes goes to window, sits on r. window-sill and 
looks out. Doc sits R. of desk.) 

Doc. The point is, Chub, have you any money? 

Chub. Well, I'll tell you ! I have 

Doc. That's enough. Go no further. 

Chub. I was wondering if I could make a touch. 

Doc. Oh, ho ! Wait a minute. Did you hear that, 
Stokes ? 

Stokes. No — ^what was it? 

Doc. Chub here wants to borrow some money. 

Stokes. Well, I'm in favor of that. From whom? 

Doc. From us. (Doc and Stokes both give 
Chub the laugh. Stokes crosses to chair l. of 
desk,) 

Chub. What's the joke? 

Doc. You are, Chub. You are. 

Chub. (Comes behind desk) Well, I haven't seen 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 13 

you for two or three days. I thought you might have 
one patient by now, anyway. 

Doc. I haven't had one patient since I opened 
my office. 

Chub. How's the Law, Stokes? (Stokes grunts 
disgustedly,) I see. (Attempting to be cheerful) 
Oh, come on, fellows, cheer up. Of course we must 
all begin at the bottom. 

Stokes. That's all I hear — ''begin at the bottom" 
—''begin at the bottom" Well, I'm at the bot- 
tom, all right, but I can't begin. 

Doc. You know what I think, fellows 

Both. What? 

Doc. I think somebody put a curse on the three 
of us. 

Both. You do, Doc? 

Doc. There's a Jonah somewhere, that's certain. 
(There is a pause as they look dejected. Doc tries 
to whistle as he arranges his desk, but fails miser- 
ably. He picks^ up appointment pad and runs finger 
on pages. It is absolutely blank,) 

Chue. It's funny we can't get started, isn't it ? 

Doc. It's a scream. 

Chub. How do you account for it ? 

Doc. It's the business. The medical profession 
is overcrowded. It's a rotten business, anyway. 
Now, if I had gone in for Law like Stokes. 

Stokes. Law! Law! You poor, deluded quack. 
A lawyer has no chance at all. 

Doc. It's better than Medicine. 

Stokes. It is not ! 

Doc. Anybody who says Medicine is better than 
Law ought to have his head examined. 

Stokes. Yes, by a doctor. You see — there's some 
trade for him right there. 

Doc. (Angry, rising) Are you trying to tell me 
I made a good choice when I took up Medicine? 

Stokes. You made a better choice than I did. 



14 MARY'S ANKLE acti 

(Rises also. All in the same positions at desk. Doc 
and Stokes are shouting,) 

Doc. What? If you're a lawyer — well — you can 
argue someone into a lawsuit, but by golly you can't 
argue them into being sick. 

Stokes. But people get sick when they can't help 
it — and they're liable to stumble on to any old doc- 
tor — even you, for instance. 

Doc. What do you mean, even me? Didn't I 
graduate with honors ? That's more than you did. 

Chub. (Trying to calm them) Gentlemen — gen- 
tlemen — let me pour oil on the troubled waters. 

Doc. I don't want any oil. When a fellow tells 
me Medicine is a regular business I want to fight. 

Stokes. Well — they're both rotten businesses! 
(Crossing l. Chub is still upstage behind desk.) 

Doc. All right — they're both rotten — but medi- 
cine is the rottenest of all! I wouldn't mind if I 
could just make a living, but what am I going to 
do ? A doctor can't go out and hustle business — it's 
considered unethical. 

Chub. Of course you couldn't do that. 

Doc. Although I don't see why not. I don't see 
why I shouldn't have as much right as an insurance 
agent to walk into a man's office and try and inter- 
est him in me. 

Chub. That's silly! What would you say? 'Tar- 
don me, but could I interest you in some nice new 
diseases this morning?" 

Doc. No — but I could tell him how good a doctor 
I am, couldn't I? 

Stokes. Not truthfully. 

Doc. But if I did, that's just the time he would 
avoid me when he was sick — he'd think I was a 
quack. It's all wrong. (There is a pause. Chub 
and Stokes walk disconsolately upstage.) I've writ- 
ten my uncle in Fargo, asking him for a loan. 

Both. (Turning quickly and eagerly) Yes ? 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 15 

Doc. Yes. But he hasn't answered yet. 

Chub. (Pulling out lining of his pocket. Broke) 
Gee! It was never as bad as this before, was it? 

Doc. I didn't think a fellow could be as broke 
as this and live. 

Stokes. Well, he can't live long, that's a cinch. 
Gee ! it looks like back to Decatur for mine. Gosh ! 
I hate to think of it. Did you ever live in one of 
those small towns ? 

Chub. You can't tell — they might elect you to 
Congress. 

Doc. You wouldn't want to see that happen to 
him, would you? 

Stokes. I figure a man is as big as his surround- 
ings. I've made my brag about succeeding in New 
York, so I — I just can't admit I'm licked. (Sits on 
couch in reclining position.) 

Chub. You're not licked. None of us is licked. 

Doc. Aren't we? 

Chub. Certainly not! Some day we will all be 
famous and we'll look back at this and laugh. (Sits 
L. of desk.) 

Doc. (Sitting r. of desk) I won't laugh. No 
doubt I'll be famous and I may look back at this — 
but I won't have the heart to laugh. (They pause 
and sit brooding.) 

Chub. It was all so different when we were at 
college together. Remember how ambitious we were 
and how rosy the future looked? (Stokes buries 
his head in pillows on couch. They All sigh.) 

Doc. Yes — I used to think once I hung out my 
shingle with "G. Hampton, M.D.," they'd have to 
call out the reserves to keep back the crowd. 

Chub. You know what the trouble is ? 

Doc. No, do you? 

Chub. Sure. 

Stokes. (Sitting up on couch) Well, if you do, 
Tivhy didn't you speak up before? 



i6 MARY'S ANKLE acti 

Chub. All businesses are rotten until you suc- 
ceed. The point is how to succeed. 

Stokes. Now it's coming! 

Chub. To be successful — one must only do the 
unusual. Success is merely a condition of mind. 
Stick to the crowd, follow the beaten paths and the 
supreme ultimate will be mediocrity ; but strike out 
fearlessly, do the unusual, and success is as certain 
to follow as daylight follows night. (Rises, As 
Chub gets into his subject he begins to walk up and 
dozmi in an important manner) You know what 
Shakespeare says — ''There is nothing either good or 
bad but thinking makes it so." That applies to suc- 
cess as well. 

Doc. What has been interfering with your think- 
ing all these months? 

Chub. (Ignoring DocJ Thoughts are things. 
The thing is to think success. Now I'm full of 
ideas and I know nothing can hold me back. 

Stokes. Have you any idea on how to eat when 
you're broke, Chub? 

Doc. I suppose if we three thought we had break- 
fast now — it would be just as good as if we really 
had it? 

Chub. It really would — if we really thought it. 

Stokes. (Placing hands to pit of his stomach) 
But you don't think we really have had breakfast, 
do you, Chub ? 

Doc. Sure he does. He'll be complaining of in- 
digestion next. 

Chub. That's right, make fun of me when I'm 
trying to tell you something worth while. Of course 
I don't mean that if you kidded yourself and said, 
*T've had my breakfast," "I've had my breakfast," 
and didn't really believe it, that you'd satisfy your 
hunger, but if you genuinely believed it — believed 
it, understand, you'd be all right. 

Stokes. (Rising from, couch) Get the chloro- 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 17 

form, Doc. Here we are, the three of us, broke, no 
breakfast, and this, this — (Pointing to ChubJ 
— ^tells us all we have to do to be successful is to be 
unusual. Think success! (Derisively,) 

Doc. (Jumping about foolishly. As he says his 
last ''success'' he g^^abs a paper knife and goes for 
Chubj Yes ! Success ! Success ! Success ! Chub, 
Fve thought of a great job for you — something un- 
usual and bound to succeed. 

Cpiub. What's that? 

Doc. Amusement director of an insane asylum. 
You'd have all the nuts laugh themselves to death 
at your ideas. 

Chub. (Very much hurt) It's no use trying to 
tell you fellows anything. You are both bromidic — 
you have no imagination. You make me sick. 
(There's a KNOCK on the door,) 

Doc. Come in. 

Clem. (Enters l.J Maw wants to know if she 
can come up and see you now ? 

Doc. (Going to desk and looking through his list 

of appointments) Let me see (In professional 

tones) Yes — I think I can squeeze her in all right. 

Clem. Squeeze her in ? I hope you ain't reflectin' 
on Maw's size, Doctor Hampton. (Exits L.J 

Doc. Hurrah! I'm safe in this room another 
week. The landlady's sick. The landlady's sick. 
(Boys take hands and dance around c.) 

Clem. (Opening door and catches them jumping 
about. Doc pretends to he examining Chub's throat 
and ad libs. "Say, Ah/') Ha — hem — hm — here's 
some letters I forgot. 

Stokes. Letters ? 

Doc. Ha — ha — some letters? (Taking letters.) 

Clem. Bills mostly. (As she looks them over she 
exits,) 

Stokes. (Sits on couch) Nothing escapes that 
bird. 



i8 MARY'S ANKLE acti 

Doc. (Opening mail) Humn — "Unless payment 
is made on operating-chair before the fifteenth we 
will be compelled to take action." 

Chub. Looks like you're going to lose your vir- 
tuous couch, Stoksie. 

Doc. Bills for instruments, furniture Hello, 

here's one from Fargo — my Uncle G. P. (He opens 
letters as Stokes and Chub gather tensely about 
him. They are standing in c. of stage,) This is the 
answer to my letter and it's our last chance. 
(Shakes envelope for possible check. Nothing falls 
out. He reads letter) "My dear Nephew :" Sounds 
encouraging. (He repeats) "My dear Nephew — " 

Chub. Sure, when it's a turn-down they usually 
start off with "Sir—" 

Doc. (Reading) "I'm sorry I must refuse your 
request for a loan." (Glances at Chub and Stokes.) 

Chub. Well, his rhetoric is admirable — very con- 
cise and to the point. 

Doc. (Reading) "I realize a young man, just 
starting in, should have all the latest tools for his 
trade." 

Stokes. He must think you're a brick-layer. Doc. 

Doc. (Reading) "But I might as well make my 
position clear and definite once and for all. Your 
dear father was a dreamer. He and I started out in 
life with nothing but prospects. Your Dad finished 
up just the way he started. I needn't tell you that 
I have been fairly successful, but I made my career 
carefully and sensibly. I had no one to make the 
way easy for me — ^no place to go when I needed 
help — so I had to help myself or go under. I didn't 
go under. I don't believe in college education. It's 
mostly a waste of time. Education is experience 
and experience is best learned when it is learned 
first hand. Now you have got your college educa- 
tion, show me, Son, show me. Your loving Uncle, 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 19 

G. P. Hampton." ''Loving Uncle." Can you beat 
that? (Crosses rJ 

Chub. (Trying to be cheerful) Well, Doc — 
maybe he's right. Some day you may refer to that 
letter as the turning point of your career. (Doc 
and Stokes turn on him as if to strangle him,) 

Doc. Oh, Chub! 

Stokes. (Grabbing Chub by the neck) Shall I 
strangle him, Doc, or do you reserve that pleasure? 

Chub. You wait — everything turns out for the 
best. 

Doc. (Crushing letter and throwing it on desk) 
Can you beat that old skinflint ? 

Stokes. Why, he's a multi-millionaire, too, isn't 
he? 

Doc. I should say he is — a thousand dollars to 
him is no more than ten cents to you. 

Stokes, (r, of desk) Then he is no millionaire. 
Doc. 

Chub. (Crossing to desk) Say — you know what 
you could do if you had that thousand, don't you? 
A thousand dollars invested in Steel six months ago 
would mean sixty thousand today. 

Doc. Honestly ? 

Chub. That would be twenty thousand apiece. 

Doc. What do you mean twenty thousand apiece ? 
Do you think I'm going to give you twenty thou- 
sand dollars of my money? — I should say not! 
(Doc and Chub are facing each other down stage 
over desk.) 

Chub. You wouldn't? Why, you're worse than 
your uncle. You haven't even got the money and 
still you won't split it! 

Doc. I wouldn't see you want, Chub, and I'd 
stake you to a little, but split my sixty thousand 
dollars three ways — ^you ask too much! 

Stokes. But Doc, as you haven't the sixty thou- 



20 MARY'S ANKLE acti 

sand dollars — ^you might as well let Chub and me 
have our twenty — don't you think ? 

Doc. (Walks up stage around desk) No, Tm 
blamed if I will 

Chub. (To Stokesj You know me, Stoksie. 
What do I care for twenty thousand ? It's the prin- 
ciple of the thing. 

Doc. That's what I say. (Comes down to where 
Chub and Stokes are,) 

Chub. But Doc, are we not your best friends? 
Doesn't our friendship make Damon and Pythias 
look like a couple of pikers? 

Doc. Yes, but Damon only had one Pythias. It 
makes a difference when you have a couple of 
Pythiases hanging on your neck. 

Chub. Don't I share what I have with you — my 
ideas and everything? (KNOCK on door. Doc 
pushes Chub in chair and hastily sticks thermome- 
ter in Chub's mouth and bends over him profes- 
sionally, much to Chub's surprise. Mrs. Merri- 
VALE enters, leaning on Clem. She carries parrot 
perched on wrist or in a small cage,) 

Doc. Be a patient. Chub! Be a patient! Come 
right in, Mrs. Merrivale. (Doc advances to meet 
her and assists her to chair l. of desk.) 

(Mrs. Merrivale is a woman who imagines 
she is a chronic invalid and enjoys her misery 
immensely. Her greatest delight is to talk of 
her illnesses. She tries so hard to be a lady, 
and the bluntness of her daughter, Clemen- 
tine^ annoys and embarrasses her greatly. She 
walks with the aid of a cane, and makes a great 
fuss of it.) 

Mrs. Merrivale. Oh, Doctor, I had no idea you 
were engaged. You mustn't let me interrupt. Why 
didn't Mama's Httle girl tell me? 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 21 

Clem. They've been here half an hour. How did 
I know they was goin' to stay all day? (Mrs. Mer- 
RIVALE attempts to quiet her.) I thought Doc was 
a fast worker. He always is on you. 

Mrs. Merrivale. Clementine ! You must not be 
so tactless ! 

Doc. That's quite all right, Mrs. Merrivale — 
these gentlemen won't mind waiting, I'm sure. Just 
join the other patient in the waiting room. (Chub 
a7id Stokes sit on either side of small table at l. 
and pretend to read old magazines there. To her) 
Unless you wish to see me in private ? 

Mrs. Merrivale. Oh, no — ^no 

Doc. I'm very much interested in your case, Mrs. 
Merrivale. More interested than you know. (Mrs. 
Merrivale sits in chair l. of desk. Chub and 
Stokes exchange glances and Clem looks suspi- 
cious. She stands by her mother's chair.) 

Mrs. Merrivale. That is so kind of you, Doc- 
tor, but really, while I'm not a bit well — in fact, I'm 
all unstrung — it isn't myself I'm worried about to- 
day. It's another member of the family. 

Clem. But Maw, I ain't sick. 

Mrs. Merrivale. No, dear, of course you're not. 
You're always well. (To Docj I don't know what 
I'd do without my little one. She's getting to be 
quite a help. 

Clem. (Who never lets anybody get away with 
anything) Help? Help! If you ask me, I'm the 
whole works ! 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Embarrassed) She will have 
her little joke. 

Clem. Yes, that's one thing about me. (Sarcas- 
tically) I will have my little joke. You notice I'm 
laughing myself to death, don't you? (Chub and 
Stokes are sitting by the table and pretend to be 
reading literature there, but exchange side glances 
at each other.) 



22 MARY^S ANKLE acti 

Doc. Oh, Clementine! 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Ignoring what Clem says with 
difficulty) No, Doctor, it isn't myself this time. 
It*s the bird, Pollyanna. 

Clem. The parrot? Oh, my Gawd! 

Mrs. Merrivale. Clementine, say what you may, 
Pollyanna is not a well bird. 

Clem. Do you mean to say that you brought that 
Irish Eagle to Doc? 

Mrs. Merrivale. Why, certainly. Pollyanna is 
sick, I tell you. Qementine is absolutely lacking in 
sympathy for the sick and suffering. 

Clem. Well, she ain't lacking in work, I notice. 

Mrs. Merrivale. Isnt, dear — not ain't. 

Clem. Well, maybe you isn't, but I ain't. I'm the 
only one in this house who ain't got time to be sick. 
Even the parrot can pull it — but not me! 

Mrs. Merrivale. Petty ! 

Clem. Honest to Gawd, Doc, when I come up 
and asked you if you could see Maw, I didn't know 
it was about that bird. That's an awful insult. Doc, 
even to you. (Exits i.,) 

Mrs. Merrivale. Doctor, you don't mind my 
bringing my precious Pollyanna to you? 

Doc. N-no — I'm glad you did. (Chub and 
Stokes laugh, Mrs. Merrivale is indignant and 
stares at them.) 

Mrs. Merrivale. I love this bird. Doctor — I 
mean. Doctor, I love this bird, and I know she is 
ill. Only one who suffers as I do could feel it. 
(Mrs. Merrivale groans and presses hand to side. 
It is obvious she is not in real pain. It is done for 
effect and is force of habit.) 

Doc. What is it? What's the matter? 

Mrs. Merrivale. Oh! My poor hver. Doctor, 
sometimes I think my trouble is too deep for any 
medicine. If it weren't for my personal regard for 
you, I should certainly try an oyster bath. (Groans 



^ 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 23 

and presses hand to other side) Why don't you 
operate and be done with it? 

Doc. I hope it isn't as serious as that. 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Abused) It's very funny. I'm 
the only woman of my age in the entire block who 
hasn't had an operation. 

Doc. Well, about the bird What symptoms 

have you observed? (Boys laugh. Doc pretending 
to be very solicitous but in reality afraid of the 
parrot,) 

Mrs. Merrivale. Well, you know how talkative 
Pollyanna is? She hasn't spoken in two days. 
(Said with an air of great calamity. If it is a real 
bird, Doc can get laughs by poking his finger at it 
and drawing it away quickly in fear.) The little 
pet is so playful. 

Doc. Indeed! Of course, Mrs. Merrivale, you 
realize I'm not a bird doctor. 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Apologetically) Of course 
not! But I thought perhaps you could take it to a 
hospital — a bird hospital, and have it examined — I 
think it's adenoids. 

Doc. Certainly I will. 

Mrs. Merrivale. You're so kind, Doctor. You 
know, neither Pollyanna or I weren't able to eat a 
bite of breakfast, so I brought one of her favorite 
crackers. I thought it might keep her from being 
homesick at the hospital. (Gets up, drops cane and 
gives a shrill little shriek.) 

Doc. What is it now? 

Mrs. Merrivale. My poor heart. Doctor! My 
poor heart! (Chub and Stokes jump to assist her.) 
Thank you. I can't walk without my cane. (Looks 
Chub full in the face) It was so good of you to 
squeeze me in between these gentlemen. Dear me, 
young man, you do look ill. 

Chub. (Surprised) Who — me? 



li^S^ 



24 MARY'S ANKLE acti 

Mrs. Merrivale. (To Docj What is the matter 
with him? 

Doc. (Quickly) Lungs. 

Mrs. Merrivale. His lungs ? It may be that my 
lungs are affected and not my liver at all — what 
do you think ? 

Doc. I think — ^it may be both. 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Secretly pleased) I've sus- 
pected it all along. Oh, well, there's no use com- 
plaining. One must bear it and smile. You will be 
good to Pollyanna, won't you, Doctor? (She has 
left Pollyanna on the desk and starts to go.) 

Doc. Need you ask ? 

Mrs. Merrivale. (To ChubJ Take care of 
yourself, young man! Rely on Doctor Hampton. 
He knows more new diseases than any doctor I ever 
had in the house. Good morning. (She exits l. 
Chub and Stokes burst out laughing.) 

Chub. That's a new one — a bird doctor! 

Doc. Dry up! 

Stokes. And for treating her you get your room 
rent free? I wonder if she needs any legal advice? 

Chub. So pretty Pollyanna is sick, is she? And 
they brought her to Doc. Poor Polly ! Poor Polly ! 

Doc. (Angry) Cut it out ! 

Stokes. Now you've got her, what are you go- 
ing to do with her, Doc? (They gather about the 
bird, each a little timid, to handle it. Doc is R. Chub 
by desk. Stokes l. of desk.) 

Doc. Blamed if I know ! (A light dawns on him) 

Say, Chub (Puts hand on Chub's shoulder) 

I was just thinking — it would be very unusual to 
pawn a parrot, wouldn't it? (All look at each other 
for a moment in silence.) 

Chub. By George, that's right! 

Stokes. Are parrots worth anything? 

Doc. To hear them talk you'd think so. 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 25 

Stokes. I wonder if we could get anything on a 
parrot ? 

Chub. We ought to get enough for breakfast. 

Doc. Suppose you try, Chub? 

Chub. I try? Why pick on me? 

Stokes. Because, Chubby, it was your idea to 
do something unusual — ^here's your chance. 

Chub. All right. I'm game. (Grabs his hat) 
What's the idea? 

Stokes. Go to Cohen — round the corner — he's 
our friend. 

Doc. And if the landlady sees you, say you're 
taking it to a hospital. 

Chub. (Taking the parrot) All right — kiss Polly 
good-bye, boys — you may never see her again. 

Doc. Here, Chub. Don't forget Polly's breakfast. 
(Gives Chub the cracker Mrs. Merrivale brought 
in, which Chub starts to eat as he goes) Hey! 
That's Polly's cracker. 

Chub. Polly lost a cracker. (As he exits u) 

Stokes. Doc, do you think Cohen will come 
across ? 

Doc. Cohen ought to do something. We're such 
good customers of his. Here's the proof. (Opens 
desk drawer and pulls out neat bundle of pawn tick- 
ets) This (Runs his finger over stock of tick- 
ets. They gather at desk and examine pawn tickets.) 
Here's my stickpin. (As he takes one pawn ticket 

after another) My silk hat — my cane Here's 

my winter overcoat — some coat, too Gee, I 

looked great in that coat — and my dress suit. Here's 
my fraternity pin. Holy smoke, I've been support- 
ing you fellows Everything here seems to be 

mine. 

Stokes. Don't worry, just go down the list and 
you'll see my little contribution. See, here's my frat 
pin — my watch — silk hat — dress suit. 

Doc. The only person who hasn't much here is 



26 MARY^S ANKLE acti 

Chub. Do you suppose that son of a gun is holding 
out on us? He might have another suit of clothes 
some place. 

Stokes. Chub never did have much except his 
ideas. 

Doc. (Sadly) And we couldn't get a nickel on 
those. 

Stokes. (Lights a cigarette, then quite a long 
pause. Turns quickly to Doc) Perhaps Cohen 
won't. Say, Doc, I wonder if by any chance Polly- 
anna has that parrot disease. 

Doc. What disease? 

Stokes. You're a fine doctor. There's quite a 
scare about it. Don't you read the papers? 

Doc. (Knowingly) Oh, that — psilosis. No fear, 
Stoksie. Pollyanna still has her feathers. Now, don't 
even hold the thought. Chub had the right idea. 
The thing is to think success. 

Stokes. Well, I'm thinking hard enough. Cohen, 
I want my breakfast — Cohen, I want my breakfast. 

Doc. Cohen, have a heart ! Cohen, have a heart. 
(There is another pause. Chub enters l. hurriedly, 
waving pawn ticket in the air,) 

Chub. Three dollars and ninety cents! 

Stokes. Gee! That's a fortune. 

Chub. Some financier, eh? 

Doc. Well, come on — divvy up. 

Chub. Well, here it is, one dollar and thirty cents 
apiece. (Has the even amount for each,) 

Stokes. Gee, we're plutocrats — come on let's go 
out and squander. And a nice new crisp dollar bill 
at that. 

Chub. (After a pause) I'm going to have a 
group of ham and eggs. 

Doc. I'm going to wait and see what's on the 
menu. (They start to go, KNOCK,) Come in. 

Clem. (Enters) Doctor, I brought a lady to see 
you. 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 27 

Doc. A lady ! Bring her right in. It never rains 
but it pours— dollar thirty cents and a patient! 
(Crosses to r. of desk,) 

Clem. (Speaks off u) Just wait a minute, Miss, 
and I'll explain. (To desk) Listen! They're play- 
ing some game outside for the Red Cross. Tag — I 
think it is. (The Boys look at each other, realizing 
something is coming off,) I seen this lady — swell 
looking, too — I seen her standin' in front of the 
house, pinnin' flags on men's coats, and every guy 
she tags — coughs up 

Chub. What kind of language do you call that, 
Clementine — ''coughs up'' ? 

Clem. Medical language — I just wanted Doc to 
understand — cough up — ^get me, Doc? 

Doc. Perfectly. 

Clem. It's the grandest cause and I thought you 
gentlemen would feel hurt if you weren't able to 
help. 

Stokes. That's very sweet of you, Clem — very 
thoughtful. 

Clem. Yes — so I askt her up — (Goes to door l,) 
Come in. Miss. (Enter Mary with flags and purse) 
Gentlemen, let me introduce Miss 

Mary. IDon't bother with the name — Tag Day is 
enough. I suppose it's very unusual to have any- 
one come into your office this way? 

Doc. It certainly is. (Clem exits as the Boys 
crowd about Mary. She is embarrassed; doesn't 
know whether to walk out or not. The more fuss 
they make over Mary the funnier it is when she gets 
their money.) 

Mary. Which is the Doctor? 

Doc. At your service. (Edging in front of Chub 
and StokesJ 

Mary. I must apologize for coming in like this. 

Stokes. (Pushing Chub aside) The pleasure is 
all ours. 



"tinar^idAaw* 



28 MARY^S ANKLE acti 

Mary. Thank you. Is this gentleman a doctor 
too? 

Stokes. No — Fm a lawyer. 

Mary. (Pointing at them as in the old rhyme) 
Oh, how romantic — "doctor — lawyer — merchant, 
chief.'' (To Chubj Is this gentleman a merchant 
or chief? 

Chub. (In his anxiety to be seen by Mary, steps 
upon couch) Why- 



Doc. Either one — hot air merchant. 

Stokes. Or Chief Clown! 

Mary. That's very unkind. 

Chub. (Stepping down) As a matter of fact, Fm 
the financial man of the group. 

Mary. (Reaches in her bag for flag) Oh, how 
lovely! Then Fll tag you first. (Doc and Stokes 
back away, laughing, as Mary takes flag and pins it 
on Chub.J 

Chub. (Looking foolishly from one to the other) 
Pretty little flag, isn't it? (^Stokes and Doc pre- 
tend to take great interest in flag.) 

Stokes. Why, that's a beautiful flag, Chub. 

Doc. I should say it is — that's something to be 
proud of, Chub. You certainly are a lucky fellow! 

Mary. But all my flags are equally as pretty — I 
wouldn't think of slighting the doctoi — (Pins flag 
on Doc, much to his discomfort) — or the lawyer — 
(Pins flag on Stokes^ — there you are — no favorit- 
ism — see ? 

Doc. Yes — I see. 

Mary. And now for my fee — first the doctor — 
he probably knows more about fees than anyone 
else. 

Doc. (Pulls out dollar bill and hands it to MaryJ 
How much? 

Mary. Anything you like. (Takes dollar bill) 
That will do nicely. (Turns quickly to Stokes as 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 29 

Doc stands with hands out as if waiting for change) 
Now the lawyer. 

Stokes. (Giving dollar bill which Mary puts in 
bag) Any change? 

Mary. Change! Why, shame on you; and now 
for the best of all — the financier. (Chub has pulled 
out dollar bill with change at same time as Doc and 
Stokes. He tries to put back dollar but Mary sees 
change and dollar bill aJtd deftly, without being bold, 
takes it all) Lovely ! I knew the financier would be 
best. (The Boys try to laugh.) There, you are all 
decorated up. 

Doc. And cleaned out ! 

Mary. I knew when I first came in Fd be success- 
ful. 

Chub. I had a hunch, too. 

Mary. Professional men are always generous. 

Doc. Well, you're no amateur yourself — ^you 
know. 

Mary. I'd better go. 

Doc. Don't go. You be a little generous, too 

Mary. You'll never regret this — it's really a 
wonderful charity. 

Doc. It Aniist be if you have anything to do with 
it. 

Mary. This will mean food to many starving 
victims. 

Stokes. Food ? You'll give them food with that ? 

Doc. I'm glad someone gets food with that. 

Chub. I'm glad Polly had a cracker. 

Mary. I hope I haven't taken too much of your 
time. 

Doc. You haven't taken too much — time. It isn't 
the time. 

Chub. Does everyone give a dollar? 

Mary. No, indeed. 

Stokes. Oh, I see, we just had to 

Mary. Most men give much more, but it isn't the 



30 MARY^S ANKLE acti 

amount that counts — ^it's the spirit in which it's 
given. 

Doc. (Very lamely) Oh, yes — I see — the spirit. 

Chub. Well, we might as well be cheerful. 

Mary. You remember the story of the widow's 
mite. 

Doc. We're not widows — this is the story of the 
bachelor's roll. 

Mary. Are you all bachelors? 

Stokes. I am! 

Chub. (Jumps to her r. Doc pulls Chub vio- 
lently aside and steps close to MaryJ I am! 

Doc. I am — extremely! Are you, too? 

Mary. Of course not 

Doc. But I mean 

Mary. Now I must go. (Backs away h,) 

Doc. Not before you tell me. 

Mary. Why, what possible difference could it 
make? 

Doc. (Following her) What diflference — a lot of 
difference — please tell me your name. 

Mary. Why? 

Doc. Well, you may need a doctor some time. 

Stokes. (They line up facing Mary. Doc first, 
Stokes second, Chub behind Stokesj Or a lawyer. 

Chub. Or a financier. 

Mary. (Amused) If I do I shall call on my three 
cavaliers. 

Doc. But the name ? 

Mary. Do you really want my name ? 

(Door L. opens and Mrs. Burns, superbly dressed, 
enters, following Clem.J 

Clem. Is this her, Ma'm? 

Mrs. Burns. (Standing l. a little down stage) 
My dear, I've been looking everywhere for you. If 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 31 

it hadn't been for this young woman I should have 
gone off and left you 

Mary. I was just coming. Let me introduce the 
doctor, the lawyer and the merchant chief. (They 
bow to Mrs. Burns. She bows in return,) 

Mrs. Burns. You know, my dear, this isn't at all 
ethical to come into a doctor's office and disturb him 
this way — even if it is for Charity. 

Doc. Charity begins at home and anyway it's a 
pleasure, I assure you. 

Chub and Stokes. (Forced) Yes, indeed! 

Mary. I was just thinking how wonderful it 
would be if all gentlemen were as easy to get money 
from as you are. (Gives money to Mrs. Burns. A 
dollar bill flutters to the floor. Chub and Stokes 
move but Mrs. Burns holds out her hand for Doc 
to give it to her.) 

Mrs. Burns. How splendid! Then I mustn't 
scold you so much after all. Success is it's own de- 
fence. (Puts money in her bag,) 

Mary. I wanted to make a record. 

Doc. Well, you have. 

Mrs. Burns. It's very sweet of you to take it so 
good-naturedly, but she shouldn't do it. Good day. 
Come, dear. 

Doc. But Miss — ^mayn't I see you to the door ? 

Mrs. Burns. Don't bother — good day. (Mary 
extends her hand. The Boys rush forward to take 
it. Doc gets it first and kisses it.) 

Doc. (Opening door) I must see you out. 
(Mary, Mrs. Burns and Doc exit u) 

Stokes. (Painting to his flag) A dollar for that. 

Chub. (Touching his) A dollar-thirty cents for 
this. 

Stokes. The widow's mite. 

Chub. Well, it was a good cause. 

Stokes. I never realized before how much the 



32 MARY'S ANKLE acti 

poor have suffered. Say, whose idea was it to give 
a dollar? 

Doc. (Entering enthusiastically) Gee, wasn't she 
a peach ! (He goes to l. window. They follow him.) 
There she is getting in a car — a Rolls, too — some 
rich girl — I suppose — just my luck! 

Stokes. Just his luck! Can you beat that? Just 
your luck! She wouldn't even give you her name. 

Doc. (Swaggers to c.) Name? Name? What's 
in a name ? Did you see the way she looked at me 
when she left? 

Stokes. (Crossing to DocJ Doc — I didn't know 
that you were conceited before. I was the one she 
looked at. 

Doc. You — that's funny — she didn't know you 

were alive. I'll leave it to Chub Who did she 

look at as she left this room? 

Chub. (Still at window) At me, of course. 

Doc. (Goes to desk; sits on edge) Well, I'll prove 
it. I'll show you fellows. No hands but hers shall 
ever touch this flag ! I'll find her if I have to scour 
New York. (They laugh.) Don't laugh. I'll find 
her and then — who knows — every young doctor 
should have a wife, anyway. 

Stokes. That's funny — a wife! Ha — ha! How 
could you support a wife? You can't even support 
me. 

Doc. Why talk about money in connection with a 
girl like that ? 

Chub. (Now on couch) After the way she 
cleaned us out, why talk about anything else ? 

Doc. Why, I'd beg, borrow or steal for a girl 
like that. 

Stokes. (Now l. of desk) Doc — I never sus- 
pected this of you. I always thought you were pretty 
well balanced, but gee, if the mere sight of a pretty 
face affects you this way 




See page 38 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 33 

Doc. It isn't that. Here I am, all broke and 
everything, and she had to come along. 

Stokes. And she broke you — don't forget that ! 

Doc. (Picking up uncle's letter mid shaking his 
fist at it) I suppose if I had a large practice and 
all the money I wanted, old G. P. would send me a 
house and lot for a wedding present. (Chub gets 
idea.) 

Stokes. Them that has, gets. 

Doc. Yes, and I suppose all the rest of the fam- 
ily would send on silver and cut-glass and all sorts 
of valuable stuff, but now, when I need it to keep 
from starving, not a nickel can I get from them. 

Chub. (Rises, as though he had an inspiration) 

Wait a minute I have an idea. Do you think 

they'd really send on presents if you were going 
to be married? 

Doc. Why, of course they would. Everybody al- 
ways does, don't they? 

Chub. (Walking toward Doc and StokesJ That's 
right. It's inborn in the human race. People just 
don't dare not to send a wedding present — it's an 
acknowledgment of poverty or meanness. Now, if 
we sent wedding invitations to your rich relatives 
in Fargo, they would think you were going to be 
married, and would send on presents just the same 
as if you really were to be married. (Seeing they 
are beginning to grasp the idea and warming up to 
the subject. The possibility of the thing dawns on 
Doc and Stokes and they rush to Chub with one 
accord.) And they are sure to send something valu- 
able. It's always a check or jewelry — or silver — or 
cut-glass. And w^hen the presents come, we can 
pawn them. 

Doc. Oh, I see — I get them, but we pawn them. 

Chub. Well, isn't it my idea? 

Doc. I don't care — I'll split. I'll do anything to 



34 MARY'S ANKLE acti 

get a bankroll and find that girl. It's a great scheme, 
Chub. You're all right. 

Stokes. Wait a minute. 

Doc. Here's old legal gloom. What's the ob- 
stacle ? 

Stokes. (Very grandly) I'm a lawyer and my 
training naturally teaches me to see all sides of a 
question. 

Doc. Well, quit bragging — and let's have the ob- 
stacle. 

Stokes. Who's the bride ? It's a criminal offense 
to use anybody's name. 

Chub. Take a fictitious name — something that 
no one could object to. 

Doc. Sure! Some common name. Brown — 
Greene — or Jones or Smith. 

Chub. I'll duck out in the hall and get the tele- 
phone book. I won't be a minute. (Exits L.j 

Stokes. Remember now — as your attorney. I ad- 
vise against this. 

Doc. Come out of it! You won't advise against 
accepting some of the money when we pawn the 
presents, though, will you? 

Stokes. (His need of money overcoming his 
judgment) Well, of course I'll help you all I can — 
but remember, I advised against it. 

Doc. What are you talking about? It's a great 
Sicheme. 

Chub. (Enters l. Going to desk, r. chair. Doc 
stands behind desk upstage, Stokes l. of desk) 
Here we are ! Brown first. One — two — three — four 
— five — six — seven — almost eight columns of 
Browns. 

Stokes. How many Greenes? 

Doc. (Sarcastically) How many Greenes ? You'd 
think he was selling vegetables. 

Chub. Greene — Greene (Turning pages of 

book to '^Greene'') One — two — three — only three 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 35 

columns of Greene. The Browns outcolor the 
Greenes. 

Doc. How about Jones ? 

Chub. (Turning to Jonesj Jones — ^Jones — ah, 
one — two — three — four — five — five Jones. 

Stokes. Better than the Greenes — but the 
Browns still have it. 

Chub. Yes, looks like you'll marry a Brown. 

Doc. Try Smiths now — let's give all the girls a 
chance. 

Chub. (Turning to Smiths) Here we are 

,One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, 
ten, eleven, twelve — twelve columns of Smiths. 
There's a name for you. 

Doc. (Crossing dramatically to c.) Pass the 
Browns — I shall marry me a Smith. (Doubtfully) 
It isn't very romantic, though. Smith, huh? What 
do you think? 

Chub. Well, Greene is romantic — it suggests 
spring and in the spring a young man's fancy — ^you 
know 

Stokes. Or Brown — that's a nice color — unless 
it's too dark. 

Doc. No — I'll have no dark-brown bride. 

Stokes. Smith is safer. As your attorney, I 
recommend Smith. 

Doc. All right ! Smith it is. 

Stokes. Now let's frame the invitation. Who 
knows how they read? 

Chub. I do. I read one once. Gather round. 
(They all huddle over desk. Writes) Mr. and Mrs. 
Smith 

Stokes. There should be an initial there. 

Doc. All right — let them have an initial. I think 
a "J" would look pretty — don't you? 

Chub. "J-"' would stand for Joseph. 

Chub. Or just plain J-A-Y! 

Stokes. Yes — "J-'' is safe. 



36 MARY'S ANKLE acti 

Doc. And very appropriate. 

Chub. All right. There are a lot of Jays in the 
world. (Writes) Mr. and Mrs. J. Smith re- 
quest the pleasure of your company at the marriage 

of their daughter What's the bride's name, 

anyway ? 

Stokes. Make it something safe. 

Doc. Like Cleopatra ? I don't think she would ob- 
ject. 

Chub. That sounds pretty too. Cleopatra Smith 
will marry Anthony Hampton. 

Doc. Let's think of the commonest name in the 
world. 

Stokes. (Going down the alphabet) Alice, Bea- 
trice, Carrie, Dora, Emma, Fannie, Gertrude, Helen. 

Chub. Let's give her two names, like Alice Bea- 
trice, or Carrie Dora, or Emma Fannie. 

Doc. You'll do nothing of the sort. I'm marrying 

the girl. I'll call her what I please. It will be 

Let's think It will be — Mary Jane — that's it. 

Stokes. That certainly sounds safe — Mary Jane 
Smith. 

Chub. Safe enough, right! (With irony.) 

Stokes. Now, let's have it again. 

Chub. (Reads) Mr. and Mrs. J. Smith request — 

Stokes. There should be an address there. 

Doc. (Exasperated) You can cause more trouble ! 

Stokes. You want this thing to be right, don't 
you ? They must live somewhere. 

Doc. Smiths live everywhere. 

Chub. (With the air of one settling an argu-^ 
ment) All right. We'll take you to Jersey. How 
about Elizabeth, New Jersey? (Reads) Mr. and 
Mrs. J. Smith of — Main Street, Elizabeth, New Jer- 
sey. 

Stokes. Has Elizabeth a Main Street? 

Doc. Every town has a Main Street. 

Chub. Main Street, Elizabeth, New Jersey, re- 



SMtfl 



ACT I MARY'S ANKLE 37 

quest the pleasure of your company — (Looks at 
Docj — at the marriage of their daughter, Mary 
Jane Smith, to George Hampton, M.D. 

Stokes. Wait a minute ! These invitations should 
be engraved, you know. 

Chub. I know a place where they print them so 
it looks just like engraving — you can hardly tell. 

Doc. I've got to hand it to you, Chub. It's a 
great scheme, all right. You're a wonder. 

Chub. It's nice to be appreciated, Doc. 

Stokes. Too bad we haven't a drink to toast the 
bride. 

Doc. Let's see. I have some nice prussic acid — 
some glycothermaline. 

Chub. Well, boys — things are picking up. 

Doc. Let's go out and eat. (They start to go,) 

Chub. Eat ! Now there is a word. Wait a min- 
ute. How much money you got, Doc? (Chub is c. 
Stokes r. Doc l.J (WARN Curtain.) 

Doc. Thirty cents. (Showing it.) 

Chub. How much you got, Stoksie? 

Stokes. I got thirty cents, too. (Showing it.) 

Chub. (Taking a dime from each) There, now ! 
That's settled. 

Doc. You ought to get along all right doing busi- 
ness that way. We're out a dime apiece. 

Chub. What do you care for a dime ? 

Stokes. Yes ! What do we care so long as you 
get it? 

Chub. Come on ! You got money in the pocket, 
ideas in the head and song in the heart. 

Stokes. Yes! Song o' six-pence! 

Doc. No, the wedding march. Here comes the 
bride! (They join hands and start singing ''Here 
Comes the Bride.'' Just as they get to door with a 
loud ''Here Comes the Bride'' Clem opens door 
suddenly; has dustpan, duster, and cloth for veil.) 

Clem. Can I clean your room out now? 



38 



MARY^S ANKLE 



ACT I 



Doc. Sure ! We're cleaned out — so why not clean 
out the room. (Doc grabs Clem's arm and Boys 
follow in rear as bridesmaids holding her dress, 
singing ''Here Comes the Bride," As they make 
circle of stage and exit, Chub takes Clem's diist- 
pan and holds it like bridal bouquet, Stokes does 
the same with the feather-duster,) 



CURTAIN 



ACT TWO 

Scene : Same as Act I. 

Stage is empty as Curtain rises. There is a 
KNOCK on door. This is repeated several 
times. Enter Clem with telegram. 

Couch should be a little more c. and the Doc- 
tor's bag is still in place on desk or floor r. 

Clem. (Sticking head around door) Doctor 
Hampton ! Doctor Hampton ! Here's a telegram for 
you. (No answer. She comes in room, leaving the 
door open) Doctor Hampton ! (Walks to desk and 
puts telegram against blotter. She notices desk is 
dusty and wipes it off with her apron. While she is 
doing this she accidentally pushes wedding invito^ 
tion envelope on floor. She picks it up and glances 
at it, feels it and then looks carelessly in envelope, 
as she sees it is not sealed. Glances at door and 
walks nonchalantly over and closes it. Stands with 
back to door and reads wedding invitation. Her 
surprise makes her walk a step or two from door, 
and while she is reading Chub comes rushing in u, 
knocking her over. She hastily puts invitation in 
apron pocket.) 

Chub. (Down c.) I beg your pardon Oh, 

it's you, Clementine. 

Clem. (Bending over chair, dusting) Yes, it's 
me, and who give you the right to call me Clemen- 
tine? 

Chub. Why — er 

Clem. You wouldn't think of calling my mother 
Madeline, would you? 

39 



40 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

Chltb. No, I don't think I would. 

Clem. Well, just because I work for a livin' don't 
give nobody no right to be familiar. 

Chub. I'm sorry, I'm sure. It's only because Fve 
heard Doctor Hampton call you Clementine. 

Clem. (As she rises from her knees) Yes — but; 
if a certain thing I suspect is true, he better quit 
callin' me Clementine any more. 

Chub. What do you mean? 

Clem. I ain't sayin' a word, but I'm goin' to 
keep a sharp eye on this room from now on. (She 
starts to go. Crosses to closet door and looks in to 
see if there are any women s clothes hanging there,) 
Mr. Oh ! Pardon me — what's your name ? 

Chub. (Below desk) My name is Perkins — 
Harry Perkins. 

Clem. Well, Mr. Perkins, will you see Doctor 
Hampton gets that telegram on the desk ? 

Chub. Yes, I will, Clementine. 

Clem. (Angry because he uses her first name) 
Thank you, Harry, 

Chub. (Apologetically) Miss Merrivale. 

Clem. Mr. Perkins. (She exits l. Chub fol- 
lows, bowing exaggeratedly as Doc enters,) 

Chub. Excuse me. (Bows) I beg your pardon. 
(Bows,) 

Doc. (Entering from u) What's the idea? (He 
has some papers in his hands,) 

Chub. I was bowing to Miss Merrivale. 

Doc. Forget Clementine. I'm worried about the 
landlady. (At r. of desk. Chub at l. j She insists 
on hearing every day how that fool parrot PoUyanna 
is getting along. (Takes out envelope with ticket in 
it and lays it on top of desk) She's so engrossed 
with the parrot's condition she has almost forgot- 
ten to be sick herself. 

Chub. That will never do. 

Doc. (Crosses to c. below desk where Chub is) 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 41 

I should say not. I — I gave her a book on symp- 
toms the other day. There are some diseases in it 
she'll be crazy about, I know. Of course you realize 
it would be unprofessional for me to suggest a dis- 
ease — but I can't help it if she discovers them her- 
self — and — I must have some place to sleep. 

Chub. Sure. At least until the presents come. 

Doc. Presents! I don't want to be a killjoy, but 
it's nine days since we sent out those wedding invi- 
tations. It's three days there and three days back. 
That is allowing them three days for shopping. 

Chub. But perhaps they're having the silver en- 
graved. (Takes out pipe and empty pouch; prepares 
to smoke,) 

Doc. The silver ? You seem certain of the silver. 

Chub. There is always silver. 

Doc. Is there ? Want a match ? 

Chub. (Starts to fill pipe and discovers there is 
no tobacco. Tries to put it away without Doc see- 
ing) No, I've changed my mind. 

Doc. (Examines pouch. Seeing Chub has no to- 
bacco) Gee, Chub, is it as bad as that? 

Chub. I don't want to smoke, anyway. It's a 
rotten habit when you come right down to it. 

Doc. Have a cigarette ? 

Chub. Well, if you can spare it. (Doc opens 
box and hands it to Chub. Chub looks inside) 
There's only one here. 

Doc. The last of the Egyptians ! Go ahead, Chub. 
Take it. I'm off the Oriental stuff, anyway. 

Chub. No — I don't want it. I'm superstitious. 

Doc. I'll split with you. (Doc divides cigarette 
with Chub ; lights Chub's and he takes long puffs.) 
Funny how good the last one tastes. 

Chub. You're lucky to have the last one. 

Doc. Chub, do something for me, will you? 

Chub. After such generosity — (Indicating butt of 
cigarette) — how can I refuse? 



42 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

Doc. I brought some charts from the hospital. 
I'll pretend they are reports on Polly anna's con- 
dition and read them to the landlady. Fill one out 
for me. (Chub takes pen and writes. Doc crosses 

to R. of desk and sits) Put down Let's see, 

now. I must make her better or worse. 

Chub. Make her worse. 

Doc. All right. Put down twenty opposite res- 
piration. 

Chub. Have parrots got a respiration? 

Doc. They seem to have everything else. Put 
down one hundred and three temperature and 

(Mrs. Merrivale enters l. without knocking. She 
is leaning heavily on cane, evidently very much 
excited.) 

Mrs. Merrivale. Excuse me for not knocking, 
Doctor. I'm all upset. 

Doc. What's the trouble? 

Mrs. Merrivale. I didn't realize how I've suf- 
fered all these years until I read this book, but now 
no matter how well I seem I'll never feel safe 
again. I have every disease but two. 

Doc. Which two are those? (Takes book from 
her.) 

Mrs. Merrivale. Hydrophobia and shingles. I 
realize now there's no hope for me. (Doc and 
Chub exchange glances and Chub makes motion to 
tear up Pollyanna's report, but Doc grabs it from 
his hand.) But then, there's no use complaining. I 
must bear it and smile. (Doc gives sigh of relief.) 

Chub. That's the way to talk — ^be cheerful — 
that's my motto. 

Doc. Now we're all happy and (Forced 

laugh.) 

Mrs. Merrivale. Doctor, how is Pollyanna? 

Doc. (His happiness disappearing abruptly) Oh ! 



ACT II MARY^S ANKLE 43 

Let me see. I have her report right on my desk 
here. 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Drops hot-water bottle. Be- 
fore he can proceed) Tell me the worst 

Doc. I always do — I assure you. 

Mrs. Merrivale. You're so kind. (Doc crosses 
up back of desk. As he picks up chart from desk 
Clem enters l. Chub and Doc can tell from her 
manner something unusual is about to come off.) 

Clem. Oh, Maw! IVe been lookin' for you. 
There is something about somebody you ought to 
know. (Doc and Chub stare straight ahead, afraid 
to glance at each other,) 

Mrs. Merrivale. Whatever it is, you must wait 
until I hear of Pollyanna's condition. (Sits l. of 
desk,) 

Clem. I'll wait. (Looks severely at Doc ; sits on 
couch,) 

Doc. (Uncomfortable under her gaze) Respira- 
tion, nineteen. 

Chub. No, I put down twenty. 

Doc. That's right — respiration, twenty. 

Clem. I didn't know parrots perspired. 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Annoyed and humiliated) 
Respiration — not perspiration. 

Clem. (In doubt) I thought it was perspiration. 
(With sudden conviction) It is perspiration ! 

Mrs. Merrivale. Oh, do be quiet. You don't 
even know what the doctor means. 

Clem. I certainly do know what he means. It's 
when you work hard like I do — and the water comes 
out of your little pores 

Chub. That's what I call clever, Clementine. 

Clem. Yes, Harry! But I never heard of a par- 
rot perspiring. 

Chub. Well, you can hardly blame it — with all 
those feathers on. 

Clem. I guess you're right. 



44 MARY^S ANKLE actii 



Mrs. Merrivale. You do humiliate me so • 

Go on. Doctor. 

Doc. Temperature, one hundred and three. 

Mrs. Merrivale. One hundred and three ? That's 
very high, isn't it? Why, the hottest day we had 
last summer — it was only ninety-eight! 

Clem. Temperature! A parrot's temperature? 
How do you take temperature? 

Doc. I take one of these ther 

Clem. (Looking at thermometer closely) That's 
made of glass, isn't it? 

Doc. (Timidly) Yes, indeed. I just place this 
end in the mouth 

Clem. (Crooking her finger in shape of parrofs 
beak) Let me get this right, Doc. You place that 
in a parrot's mouth? Why, that bird thinks a Bra- 
zillian nut is a piece of marshmallow and you tell 
me you put that in its mouth? If you did, all I can 
say is, Pollyanna has changed. . 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Utterly humiliated and exas- 
perated) Doctor, I apologize. Do you wonder why 
my nerves are unstrung? 

Clem. Do I unstring your nerves. Maw? 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Almost in tears) You certain- 
ly do! 

Clem. Well, your nerves will need restringin' 
when you hear what's comin'. So prepare yourself 
for a shock. As far as we know, there ain't been no 
woman hangin' around here. 

Mrs. Merrivale. ''Isn't/' not "ain't" ! Don't be 
ungrammarical ! 

Clem. Grammar ain't got nothin' to do with a 
case like this. This affair is respectable or it ain't 
—that's all. 

Mrs. Merrivale. Clementine! You are aggra- 
vating. 

Clem. But careful ! Mind you, Doctor Hampton 
— and I'm say in' this in front of a witness 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 45 

(To ChubJ You're a witness. I ain't accusin' you 
of nothin' — remember that. 

Mrs. Merrivale. Don't get me all worked up, 
Clementine. 

Clem. Huh ! To mention you and work is funny. 

Mrs. Merrivale. There she goes again. (To 
DocJ I can't even speak to her lately without her 
snapping at me in that vulgar, offensive way. It's 
really dreadful, and me an invalid. Oh, to think I 
should raise a child to talk like that to me ! 

Clem. (Rising) Don't get heroic, Maw — yet. 
Save your strength. Something tells me you are go- 
ing to need it. Read this ! (Dramatically produces 
wedding invitation. Doc^ who has been trying to 
pacify them during their quarrel, starts to look for 
wedding invitation. Chub also.) 

Mrs. Merrivale. It's a wedding invitation ! 

Doc. (To Clem J Where did you get that? 
(Then turns to Chub and they whisper.) 

Clem. I got it — ^that's enough. 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Reading; as she comes to 
Doctor's name she reads aloud) "Mary Jane Smith 
to George Hampton, M.D." 

Clem. Those invitations are dated a week ago. 
I've looked all over this room and there is no 
woman's clothes I can find. It's very unusual. 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Suddenly rises) If he is mar- 
ried, he'll leave — then — what's to become of me? 

Clem. You surprise me. Maw. 

Mrs. Merrivale. You don't care what happens 
to me — my own child doesn't care what happens 
to me. 

Doc. (Coming down to her, forming a line across 
the stage — Mrs. Merrivale r., then Doc, Chub 
and ClemJ But I'm not married. 

Clem. You're not? 

Doc. I give you my word of honor, I am not 
married. 



46 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

Mrs. Merrivale. (With arm outstretched to 
Doc) Promise me — ^promise me, you won't give up 
this room and leave me. 

Doc. Never ! 

Mrs. Merrivale. Promise you won't leave me! 

Clem. For Gawd's sake, Maw, control yourself. 
Anybody would think there was something between 
you two. 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Screams) Oh, I'm going to 
faint ! 

Clem. (Terrified) Don't faint, Maw. Don't 
faint. (Mrs. Merrivale knows from experience 
that Clem is afraid of fainting and promptly does 
so.) 

Doc. Chub, get me those smelling-salts. (Slaps 
her wrists. Chub gets salts and holds them under 
Mrs. Merrivale's nose.) 

Clem. (To DocJ You can have a hundred wives 
and keep the whole bunch hid — for all I care. Maw ! 
(Mrs. Merrivale opens eyes dramatically.) 

Doc. (Speaking so Mrs. Merrivale will hear) 
But — I will not get married. 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Weakly) But you mustn't — 
let me — spoil your life. 

Doc. (Clem starts up c.) My duty comes first. 

Mrs. Merrivale. Isn't he noble? (Recovering 
very suddenly.) 

Doc. I will not get married ! Give up this room 
— just when I need — I'm needed most? Never! 
Never! (Mrs. Merrivale cries. Chub grasps Doc's 
hand heroically. Clem is dumfounded.) 

Clem. Who started this, anyway? Come on. 
Maw. ( Mrs. Merrivale rises with aid of cane and 
takes Clem's arm.) I'll never open my face again 
as long as I live. 

Mrs. Merrivale. Here's your invitation. Doctor. 
(Gives him invitation.) 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 47 

Doc. I was going to send that invitation to you, 
Mrs. Merrivale. 

Mrs. Merrivale. Don't do it, Doctor! It isn't 
that I'm not grateful for you thinking of me — but 
I can't afford a present. 

Chub. (Unable to repress hhnself) Ah ha! 

Clem. What do you mean by "Ah ha"? It's no 
disgrace for me and Maw to be poor. 

Doc. The wedding has been indefinitely post- 
poned. 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Putting hand on Doc's shoul- 
der) Oh, Doctor! 

Clem. (To ChubJ I hope you're broad-minded. 

Mrs. Merrivale. I almost forgot. Will you as 
a special favor bring Pollyanna home? 

Doc. When ? 

Mrs. Merrivale. Today. 

Doc. (Exchanges looks with ChubJ But — but — 
it may be dangerous to remove her so soon. 

Mrs. Merrivale. Dangerous? But if I wasn't 
with her in her last hours I'd never forgive myself. 
The poor little lonely bird. (Mrs. Merrivale and 
Clem exit l.J 

Chub. (Crossing to Doc. They stand up c.) The 
presents are bound to come. Did you hear what 
she said about the invitation? 

Doc. But did you hear what she said about the 
parrot ? 

Chub. What are you going to do? 

Doc. (Speaks in whisper) You go around to 
Cohen and see how Pollyanna is. Maybe she really 
is dead. 

(Enter Stokes l. as Doc is giving Chub his hat. 
He hears the word ''dead") 

Stokes. Hello, boys! 



48 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

Doc. Sst (Finger to lips) Not a word. (To 

Chubj Hurry. 

Chub. All right. Til see if she's dead. 

Doc. And if she is, bring the body home. 
(Stokes starts. Chub exits l. very mysteriously.) 

Stokes. What's the mystery? 

Doc. Ssh (Peeps around door cautiously) 

I'm glad you came. 

Stokes. Have you murdered somebody? (They 
speak in whispers,) 

Doc. Ssh! 

Stokes. Say, I'm going. (Starts to door,) 

Doc. (Holding him back) No — I may need your 
help. 

Stokes. What's it all about? 

Doc. It's — no — I can't tell you. 

Stokes. (Indignantly) What! Have you ever 
known me to betray the confidence of a client be- 
fore? 

Doc. I never knew you to have a client before. 

Stokes. Of course, if you feel that way about it. 
(His curiosity gets the better of him) Oh, come on. 
Give us a tell. 

Doc. It's the landlady. 

Stokes. Don't tell me she's dead. 

Doc. She wants Pollyanna brought home today. 

Stokes. I thought maybe she was dead and you'd 
lost your room. 

Doc. That's decent of you, Stokes, to have my 
welfare at heart. 

Stokes. Yes, I wanted you to put me up till 
Saturday. My landlady has seized my trunk and 
locked my room. 

Doc. Till Saturday That reminds me I have 

been eating across the street this week and my 
board's due Saturday — so if the presents don't 
come 



JsW'S-^'i J^Vf 



. m^ -y '.sj^^^^w^^^v 




ACT II 



Sec page 56 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 49 

Stokes. (Crossing lJ What do you suppose is 
causing the delay? 

Doc. They're having the silver engraved. 

Clem. (Enters u) There's an expressman with 
some packages for you. 

(Enter Expressman with seven packages as Clem 
motions him in.) 

Expressman. Expecting anything? 

Doc. Well, yes — from Fargo. 

Expressman. (Packages being rather bulky are 
put on floor) That's right. Sign here. {Doc signs.) 

Clem. Have you heard about the parrot? 

Doc. (Joyfully) Pollyanna? Yes, indeed, and 
I'm glad to say she's greatly improved. (Looking at 
presents) In fact I think, from present indications, 
she'll be home this afternoon. (Stokes grhis. Ex- 
pressman glares at him.) 

Clem. I'm glad of that. It's all Maw can talk 
about. (Clem looks at Expressman waiting for 
tip) No chance. (She exits. Expressman exits 
with look look of disgust because he didn't get a tip. 
Doc and Stokes rush to parcels with one accord.) 

Doc. What did I tell you? It worked! We'll be 
on Easy Street — when we pawn these 

Stokes. This must be from old G. P. It's so 
tight. Got some scissors? 

Doc. (Getting cutter from desk) Here — take 
this. It's for cutting out tonsils — but it's all right. 

Stokes. I'll bet it was like cutting out old G. P.'s 
tonsils to separate him from what's in here. Heavy, 
too! 

Doc. Gee, I wish Chub was here ! (During this 
scene they cut open strings of packages quickly and 
begin to unwrap parcels as fast as possible.) 

Stokes. No — I'm wrong — this is not from G. P, 
It says on the box, '*Mrs. Oliver Hampton." 



50 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

Doc. My Aunt Jane Isn't that thoughtful of 

dear Aunt Jane? She's so sensible — and has such 
good taste. She's rich, too. I'll bet we live a week 
on what Aunt Jane sent. 

Stokes. Well — lift the lid on Aunt Jane. (Reads 
card) "To dear Mary from Aunt Jane." (Takes 
cover off box and takes out beautiful hand-made 
nightdress,) 

Doc. Good Lord! 

Stokes. Oh, yes — we'll live a week on that. We 
might live a week in it. 

Doc. (Takes gown) That's a foolish present — 
unless it's filled. Well — maybe we'll have better 
luck here. (Reads card in another box) "From 
Cousin Grace." (Pulls out Japanese pa jama suit, 
jacket and trousers, elaborately embroidered. They 
are dumfounded.) They must think I married a 

Stokes. (Opening another box, pulling lingerie 
out. Doc grabs it from him with shocked expres- 
sion and returns it to box) That's an insult, that is. 
(Meaning combination or a ^'Teddy" and pair of 
bloomers.) 

Doc. It's for Mary. 

Stokes. Oh, that's different. 

Doc. What? Why, everything here is for Mary. 

Stokes. You certainly are popular with your 
own family. 

Doc. I can't understand it — I'm dazed. 

Stokes. (Pulling out contents of another box) 
Linen hand-made towels. Everything they sent is 
sort of boudoiry, isn't it? Where is the jewelry and 
the cut glass and the silver with the initials on? 

Doc. (Takes out punch-bowl or vase) Here's 
something heavy — ^cut glass. (He opens it and in his 
haste drops it and breaks it. There shoidd be an 
iron under rug to be sure glass breaks.) 

Stokes. The only thing we could possibly pawn 



ACTii MARY'S ANKLE 51 

and you have to break it! Wait a minute — here's 
one we overlooked. 

Doc. Oh, that's too small. 

Stokes. It says ^Valuables" on the outside. 

Doc. (Grabs it — reads card) "To dear Mary, 

my new niece, these priceless jewels " (They 

both jump with joy and shake hands. He reads on) 
"Their actual value is practically nothing, but they 
will be priceless to you because they have been in 
the family for many generations." (They are 
dazed.) 

Stokes. (Sarcastically) Well, it certainly was a 
great scheme. 

Doc. (Throws pillow at his head) Dry up. I 
wonder what's keeping Chub. (Chub enters, breath- 
less and full of news.) Ah ha! Here's our little 
playmate. 

Chub. (All excited) Cohen says we can't have 
the bird till we pay a bill of five dollars for board ! 

Stokes. Board ? 

Chub. He says never in his life has he seen such 
an appetite. 

Doc. That's the last straw 

Chub. And he (To Doc^ — says he has lost 

a lot of customers through the parrot's swearing 
and he is going to sue us. He says the blamed thing 
has eaten up all his interest. 

Stokes. We have good news, too. The presents 
have come! 

Chub. They have? 

Stokes. They have ! 

Doc. (Crossing r. of Chubj They have ! 

Chub. I tell you it's very gratifying to conceive 
an idea and have it turn out this way. Some day 
you fellows will give me credit. 

Doc. Yes, we're going to give it to you in just 
a minute, Chub — all the credit you deserve. Stokes, 
shall we show him the presents now? 



52 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

Stokes. It wouldn't be fair not to show them. 

Chub. Come on — quit stalling. 

Doc. Is there anybody you would like to have no- 
tified? 

Chub. (Trying to back away. Doc seises one 
arm and Stokes the other) What are you doing, 
kidding me? 

Doc. Oh, no, you don't ! Look ! Gaze ! Drink it 
in. Those are the valuable presents you promised. 

Stokes. This ! 

Doc. And that ! (Showing him present.) 

Stokes. And these. (Showing him present.) 

Doc. And those ! (Showing him present.) 

Stokes. And them ! 

Chub. Where's the silver? 

Doc. They're having it engraved. 

Chub. My — my brain's in a whirl! 

Doc. Your brain ! Your brain is so big you could 
wear a demi-tasse for a high hat — and then you'd 
have to pad it. (Crosses r., front of desk.) 

Chub. But G. P. — ^your uncle — didn't — didn't he 
send anything? 

Doc. Not even a wire of congratulation 

Chub. (Starts R.J Oh, a wire 

Doc. Shut up! (Pushes Chub into chair l. of 
desk.) 

Stokes. (Simultaneously) Keep still! (Chub 
hands wire on desk to Doc after furtive glance at 
Doc and Stokes.J 

Doc. When did this come ? 

Chub. (Not sure he will he allowed to speak, as 
Doc is standing in a threatening attitude on one side 
and Stokes on the other) Clementine brought it in 
w — when you were out this m — morning. 

Stokes. You're certainly a great help to have 
around, Chub. 

Chub. Read it. Maybe it's from your uncle. 

Doc. Yes, Bright Eyes, maybe it is. (Reads tele- 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 53 

gram) "Arrive at three en route to Bermuda. Sail- 
ing on The Bermudian at five. Will stop on way 
to boat to meet your wife. Have wedding present 
with me. G. P. Hampton.'' 

Chub. At three. (Looks at watch) He's in 
town now. 

Doc. What have I done to deserve this ? 

Stokes. It certainly was a great scheme. Where 
shall I put these valuable presents? 

Doc. Put 'em on I don't care where you 

put 'em. 

Chub. (Rising) Wait ! I have an idea. 

Doc. This is too much. (They look as if they 
were about to jump on him.) 

Chub. Just a minute Restrain yourselves. 

Suppose we hang these — (Indicating garments) — in 
the clothes closet and leave the door slightly ajar. 

Then when G. P. comes in he will notice the 

{Indicating negligee) — ^you know — the toute en- 
semble — and we can say your wife had gone shop- 
ping before his telegram arrived. (Stokes and Doc 
look at each other. Both are forced to a reluctant 
approval.) 

Stokes. What do you think? 

Doc. (Crossing c. to R. of StokesJ Well, that's 
not so bad, eh? 

Chub. (All confidence again, crosses to couch) 
Sure — some day you will realize how brilliant I am. 

Doc. Now, don't get swell-headed just because 
we let you live. 

Chub. Well, now. Doc — confess. The scheme 
was all right — ^the presents came — ^but how was I 
to know your family were a flock of hard-boiled 
eggs? (Business of picking up presents and in go- 
ing drops the ^'Teddy'' and bloomers.) 

Stokes. (Handing him a piece) Here, you 
dropped the toute ensemble. 

Doc. (Indicating the nightgown) Stoksie — 



54 MARY^S ANKLE actii 

wrinkle them up a bit so they'll look used — ^you 
know. 

Stokes. Suppose G. P. decided to wait until 
your wife comes back from shopping? (Doc stops 
apprehensively. Boys dump boxes and paper in 
closet.) 

Chub. You forget he sails for Bermuda at five. 
Just get the present from him. 

Doc. Yes, just get the present from him first — 
that's the trick. 

Chub. Is he as close as all that ? 

Doc. Close ! He thinks alum is an explosive. His 
favorite author is the receiving teller at the Bank. 
Why, the Wall Street Journal is his idea of a yel- 
low sheet and to him the most thrilling love story 
of the ages is Smith's Wealth of Nations, 

(There is a CRASH off stage, preceded and fol- 
lowed by auto HORNS and EXPLOSIONS. 
All rush to l. window.) 

Stokes. By George ! That is a mixup. 

Chub. That fellow in the touring car was on 
the wrong side of the street. 

Stokes. There's a woman in the taxi Looks 

like she's hurt. 

Doc. Hurry up They might take her to the 

doctor across the street and I need — I mean — I'm 
a much better doctor than he is. (Pushes Chub and 
Stokes out of door L.j 

Stokes. (As he is going out) Yes, and she has 
a good case against that touring car. I'll take care 
of that. 

Doc. (Jumping about unconsciously, glad and un- 
able to suppress his excitement) Somebody's hurt ! 
Somebody's hurt! (Rushing to medical cabinet) 
My first patient. (He fumbles with instruments and 
knocks them all over floor) Gee, I'm nervous. 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 55 

(Enter Stokes and Chub, carrying Mary, her face 
covered, followed by Clem and Mrs. Merri- 
VALE, who walks in without her cane,) 

Mrs. Merrivale. Is she dead? Is she dead? 
(Stokes and Chub attempt to put Mary on couch. 
As her feet touch ground she moans with pain. 
Mary's stocking is torn and her ankle discolored 
with grease paint,) 

Doc. (Kneeling at foot of couch) It's her ankle. 

Chub. (At couch. Stokes r. of couch. Mrs. 
Merrivale and Clem nearby) Is she badly hurt? 

Clem. Shall I run for a doctor? 

Doc. Doctor What do you mean ? 

Mrs. Merrivale. Til bet she's dead. Til bet she's 
dead. 

Chub. (To her) What odds will you lay me? 

Stokes. Cut it out, Chub. (Crosses up. To DocJ 
I'll be back in a minute. I want to get the taxi 
driver's name and the number of the big car. 

Doc. (Taking off Mary's shoe and stocking) 
Here, you, help me! 

Stokes. But I want to make a success of my first 
case. (Exits l.) 

Doc. So do I. Chub, get me those bandages on 
the shelf. (Chub runs. To Clem J Get me that 
little black bag. (Clem runs for it.) 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Repeats Doc's orders and 
rushes aimlessly backward and forward) Is she 
dead? 

Doc. (Is very commanding. To ChubJ Tear oflf 
that bag and give me the bandages. (To Clemj 
Open the bandages and give me the bottles. 

Clem. (Opens bag and takes out empty beer 
bottle) This? 

Doc. (Mechanically takes it and then hurriedly 
hides it under couch) No, the other one. 

Clem. My Gawd, Maw, you forgot your cane. 



S6 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Promptly faints as she real- 
ises she is getting about without cane) My cane! 
And I can't walk a step without it. 

Clem. (Real panic whenever her mother pulls a 
faint) Doctor! Look! Maw fainted. (Doc drops 
Mary's ankle and rushes to Mrs. Merrivale. Feels 
in grip for medicine; runs hack to Mary. Chub 
starts to bandage Mary's ankle.) 

Clem. Take care of Maw first. (Doc grabs ban- 
dages and hesitates where to go. In confusion 
kneels and starts to bandage Mrs. Merrivale's 
ankle.) Doctor Hampton, how dare you? 

Doc. (Is terribly embarrassed when he realizes 
what he has done, Mrs. Merrivale revives and is 
assisted from room by Chub and Clem as Stokes 
enters l., writing in notebook.) Take your mother 
downstairs — Fm losing my head. 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Suddenly as she gets to door) 
Is she dead? 

Chub. Not yet. But the Doc's working on her. 
(Mrs. Merrivale, Clem and Chub exit u, all ad 
libing,) 

Stokes. (Comes l. of desk) What's wrong? 

Doc. I don't know whether it's broken or just 
badly sprained. Get me my small case. I want to 
have something ready to relieve the pain. (Stokes 
gets case from cabinet.) How about the fellow in 
the big car ? 

Stokes. Oh, he's all right — scratched up a bit — 
but no chance for you. The policeman has him in 
charge. My client has a great case. (Very impor- 
tant about it.) 

Doc. (Equally as important) You mean my pa- 
tient? 

Chub. (Enters. Happy) Some day! Eh, Doc? 

Doc. A patient at last ! 

Stokes. A client at last ! 

Chub. She's got on some swell scenery, too. 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 57 

(Mary moves slightly. Doc puts hand under her 
head and moves back her hat.) 

Doc. (Dropping her head on pillow. He is all 
excitement) Boys — look — Fve found her! 

Chub. The Tag Day girl ! 

Stokes. Here's where we get our money back. 

Doc. Money! You talk about money at a time 
like this? I wouldn't insult her. 

Ci-iuB. Doc— be reasonable. 

Stokes. Yes, and it's a long time till Saturday 
night. 

Mary. (Trying to sit up. Doc helps her) I 
must get there in time. (As she opens her eyes,) 

Doc. It's all right. Don't excite yourself. 

Mary. I must get there. The boat sails at five. 

Doc. My God — how did she know? 

Mary. What place is this and who are you? 

Doc. (Distinctly surprised and hurt) Don't you 
remember me? 

Chub. That's your physician, Doctor Hampton. 

Mary. My physician? What's the matter with 
me? (Remembers) Oh! Now I remember. Am I 
badly hurt, Doctor? 

Doc. (In most professional tones) Well — er — 
perhaps rather severely— but not dangerously. It's 
your — (Looks down and giggles) — ankle. 

Mary. (Looks down and sees her bare ankle and 
tries to hide it. Winces in pain) Oh, dear ! 

Doc. (Gets pillow on which to rest ankle) There 
— that feels better, doesn't it? 

Mary. (Smiling very sweetly up into his face) 
Very much better, thank you — ^you're so kind. 

Doc. (A little flustered. To StokesJ She's a 
dream. (In his embarrassment puts Mary's stock- 
ing in his handkerchief pocket) Excuse me — I'll be 
back in a moment — I want to take some medicine to 
one of my patients. (Exits l. with large bottle of 
pills.) 



58 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

Stokes. (Asserting himself) Now, Madame, I 
want you to know that — er — we have a wonderful 
case. 

Mary. Good Heavens! A case of what? 

Stokes. Why — of damages. 

Mary. Have we I beg your pardon, but who 

are you ? 

Stokes. Why, Fm your attorney. 

Mary. My — ^you must pardon me — it must be 

the accident, but I don't remember Still, you 

all do seem very familiar. 

Chub. Sure, don't you remember the three dol — 
the three fellows on Tag Day? 

Mary. (Smiling in reminiscence) Oh, of course 
I do. The doctor, the lawyer and the merchant 
chief. How silly of me to forget ! 

Chub. (Feeling in his pocket) I couldn't — for- 
get you. 

Stokes. Why, yes, we have a wonderful case. 
You see, the other car was going way beyond the 
speed limit and was on the wrong side of the 
street 

Chub. We could see that from the window 



Stokes. And as you were proceeding in an 
orderly and lawful manner, you are entitled to just 
and lawful damages. (Enter Doc l. He is surprised 
at Stokes"" progress with Mary. J Now you just 

leave it in my hands and I (During this speech, 

Doc does everything possible to attract Mary's 
attention, hut Stokes manages by his swift speech 
and professional manner to hold her attention.) 

Mary. Oh ! I will — I'll leave everything in your 
hands — I'm sure you're very capable. 

Stokes. (Swelling up) Thank you. Your con- 
fidence greatly affects me. 

Mary. But I'm afraid that I'm in no condition 
now to talk damages. 

Doc. (Who has been chafing under Stokes' 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 59 

monopoly of Mart's attention, squeezes in r. of 
Mary) Certainly not. As your physician I posi- 
tively refuse to have you agitated. (Pushes Stokes 
away and hisses) Traitor ! (Bends over Mary and 
is all attention,) 

Mary. (Suddenly remembering) What time is 
it? (None of the Boys have watches.) 

Chub. (Looks out of the window and apparently 
sees the time and announces — ) Four o'clock. 

Stokes. It's just four o'clock.) (Repeating 

Doc. It's four o'clock. | together) 

Chub. Just four. (Speaking with Doc and 
Stokes. They All glare at each other,) 

Mary. You must get me to the boat immediately. 
I'm sailing for Bermuda at five. 

Doc. (Gazing at Stokesj You're sailing for 
Berhooda? What did you say? 

Mary. I'm sailing for Bermuda at five. 

Doc. (Goes to desk. Picks up telegram; reads 
aloud) "Sailing on Bermudian at five." (Turns to 
Mary) At what time ? 

Mary. At five. 

Chub. On what boat? 

Mary. On the Bermudian. 

Doc. (Points to telegram as he glances at Chub 
and Stokes, excited) But my dear young lady, it's 
quite impossible — ^you won't be able to get about 
for several days, at least. 

Mary. But I must go — my aunt is waiting for me 
at the boat. 

Doc. But you need to be absolutely quiet. 

Mary. I can be quiet on board ship. 

Chub. But you need constant — medical attention. 

Doc. (Shakes Chub's hand gratefully) For 
several days — until Saturday, at least. 

Stokes. Saturday ! 

Mary. (Dejectedly) But I can't spoil Aunt's 
trip. Of course I know our private aflfairs don't 



6o MARY'S ANKLE actii 

interest you — but it's very romantic. I wouldn't 
spoil it for a dozen sprained ankles. She has 
promised to meet an old sweetheart on board and 
they're to patch up a quarrel that separated them 
twenty years ago. Auntie is a widow now — and if 
I don't go she won't go — and — it will spoil every- 
thing. 

Doc. But your health is the first consideration. 

Mary. (With an air of finality) But I'm quite 
all right, I assure you. I wonder if I could ask a 
great service of the merchant chief. 

Chub. Of me? (Gloats over Doc and Stokes; 
crosses to her) My life — if you wish it. 

Doc. (Sarcastically) She said a service. 

Mary. I'm afraid if I'm carried to the boat with 
my ankle bandaged up, it may give my Aunt a 
dreadful shock. 

Chub. I'm sure it would give the whole ship a 
shock to see that wonderful ankle — a delightful 
shock. 

Mary. You mustn't say things like that 

Chub. How can I help it 

Mary. Will you go to the boat and break the 
news gently to my Aunt? Say there has been an 
accident, but it isn't serious, and that I'll be there 
presently and for her please not to worry. Oh ! I'm 
sure you know what to say — I'll just leave it to 
your good judgment. 

Chub. (Realizes she is sending him away) Yes 
— of course — if you want me to go — I'll go — I much 
rather stay here 

Mary. And then I shall see you at the boat to 
thank you. 

Chub. (Realizing he will see her again) That's 
right — so you will — I'll see you off. 

Mary. My aunt's name is Mrs. Burns. 

Chub. Mrs. Burns — I'll not forget that — I'll 
think of a ten cent cigar. Goodbye, boys — good- 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 6i 

bye. ril come back after I've seen the ship sail and 
tell you — just — how things are. (Puts on hat pomp- 
ously and goes to door. To Maryj Your dis- 
crimination greatly affects me. (Imitating Stokes.J 

Mary. You don't mind going, do you? 

Chub. Mind ! I think it's a great idea. (Exits l. 
with triumphant look at the BoYS.j 

Mary. (She is very much amazed) And now 
you will call a taxi and have me taken to the boat, 
won't you, Doctor? 

Doc. When such a beautiful lady commands — 
what can I do but obey? 

Stokes. Say, where do you get that stuff? 

Doc. Stokes, will you be kind enough to go down- 
stairs and ring for a taxi? 

Stokes. What! — er — don't you think — consider- 
ing the fact that I'm a stranger in this house — that 
it would be better if you went down. The landlady 
might object. 

Doc. Not at all— not at all ! 

Mary. If you will — ^please, Mr. Attorney — I'd be 
so grateful. 

Stokes. (Melting under her gaze, assumes 
courtly air) Anything for you — ^your slightest wish 
is my command. (Bows low,) 

Doc. Sir Walter Raleigh, tell him to have it here 
immediately. (Exit Stokes l. Mary laughs with 
Doc as soon as door closes,) I'm sorry you're going 
away. 

Mary. (Coquettishly) Why? 

Doc. (Confused) Why — ^because I'm sorry to 
lose your case! — no, no! 

Mary. Oh — I thought you meant something else. 

Doc. (Eagerly; sits on couch) I did mean some- 
thing else — I mean so much else I can't begin. 

Mary. Well, don't try. 

Doc. Didn't you really remember me at first? 

Mary. I'm afraid not. 



62 MARY^S ANKLE actii 

Doc. Aw — please — please remember me — or say 
you did, anyway. 

Mary. Well, of course, the accident dazed me for 
a few moments, or Fm sure I would have re- 
membered. (Hand on arm.) 

Doc. I would have known you if I were uncon- 
scious. I haven't stopped thinking of you for one 
minute ever since that day you were here. Look — 
(Points to flag in lapel of coat) I'm still all dec- 
orated up. I made a vow that no other hands but 
yours would touch this flag. 

Mary. How thrilling! But suppose we had 
never met again? 

Doc. Then I should have gone to the grave with 
this over my heart! (Mary laughs.) But I knew 
we would meet again. 

Mary. Perhaps we never would have if it hadn't 
been for that accident. 

Doc. God bless that accident. 

Mary. What a dreadful thing to say! 

Doc. Not for a doctor. 

Mary. But you don't even know my name. 

Doc. I'm not going to let you get away this time 

without knowing your name (Rises) I've 

suffered enough the last ten days. 

Mary. Doctor Hampton, are you trying to make 
love to me? 

Doc. (Takes hand; sits) With all my heart and 
soul. 

Mary. But you have only seen me once. 

Doc. How can you say that? I've seen you a 
million times since Tag Day. Every moment of the 
day I see your face before me. 

Mary. That must be awful. 

Doc. It's wonderful! But that isn't the worst — 
you haunt me at night. You know you shouldn't do 
that — unless you are serious. 

Mary. I shouldn't do what? Do you think that 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 63 

just because I came in here on Tag Day and accepted 
some money from you 

Doc. Please don't speak of money at a time like 
this. (Abruptly rises; crosses c.) I suppose you 
live in a wonderful big house ? 

Mary. What has that to do with it ? 

Doc. You wouldn't live in a bungalow, would 
you? (Mary laughs,) Don't laugh at me. 

Mary. You are the funniest man. 

Doc. (Crosses to her) Will you let me call on 
you when you return from Bermuda? 

Mary. But I hardly know you. 

Doc. I can fix that up all right, if you will let me 
call. Will you? Quick — please — he's coming back. 
(He takes her hand.) 

Mary. I will. 

Doc. (Kisses her hand) Thank you. 

Stokes. (Comes in quickly and sees Doc kissing 
Mary's hand. Sarcastically) Some doctor you are ! 

Doc. (Pretends to have been taking pulse) 
Ninety-eight — normal! (Mary laughs,) 

Stokes. The taxi will be here in a moment. 
(Elaborately to Mary.j 

Mary. I must settle my bill before the taxi comes 

and now (Doc and Stokes both show renewed 

interest in life.) 

Doc. Oh, any time will do. 

Mary. Oh, no, I must do it now. How much is 
it. Doctor? 

Doc. Why, the usual thing. (Stokes stands be- 
hind Mary and makes violent motions with his 
hands to indicate five dollars.) 

Mary. But doctors have different fees, haven't 
they? (Stokes renews his signals.) 

Doc. (With effort) Yes, different doctors have 
different fees. Well, my usual fee — that is — if I 
ever had — I mean when I — well, my usual fee is — 



64 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

five — but in your case (Stokes is frantic with 

disgust,) 

Mary. I wouldn't think of allowing you to re- 
duce your fee for me — no, indeed! (Stokes and 
Doc look greatly relieved. Mary searches for her 
bog. She cannot find it) Why, where is my purse? 
(They All search for it.) C3h, dear, I must have 
lost it in the accident. (Doc and Stokes collapse.) 

Stokes. Why, that's outrageous. Was there any- 
thing valuable in it ? 

Mary. Well, the bag itself was very valuable — 
and I did have quite a bit of money. You see, I 
gave a luncheon to several friends — girl friends — 
(To Doc) — and was hurrying to meet my aunt at 
the boat. I feel so embarrassed. 

Doc. Why, it's perfectly all right, I assure you. 

Mary. You must send the bill to my father imme- 
diately. 

Stokes. Where does he live ? 

Mary. In Elizabeth, New Jersey. 

Doc. How long does it take to get a letter from 
Elizabeth, New Jersey? 

Mary. Oh, you ought easily to have an answer 
by — Saturday. 

Doc. Thank you. (Shakes her hand, greatly re- 
lieved.) 

Mary. So you'll surely send it, won't you? 

Doc. I'll take it over myself. (Crossing r. ; real- 
izes what he is saying. Stokes coughs.) In that 
way I can make your father's acquaintance and ask 
his permission to call on you. 

Stokes. I think I'd better talk to your father 
about — the case, too. 

Mary. That will be splendid. 

Doc. (At desk) What is your favorite name and 

address I mean, what is your father's name 

and address? 

Mary. Oh, it's a very common name. 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 65 

Stokes. I can scarcely believe that. 

Mary. Oh, it is, I assure you. 

Doc. Let us judge of that. 

Mary. Well, it's Smith — John Smith. (Doctor 
and Stokes collapse.) And the address is twenty- 
two hundred Main Street, Elizabeth, New Jersey. 
(Stokes grabs the tail of Doc's coat.) 

Doc. (Stuttering) Repeat that, please — my friend 
interrupted me. 

Mary. John Smith, twenty-two hundred Main 
Street, Elizabeth, and my name is commoner still — 

Doc. Don't tell me it's Mary Jane. 

Mary. (Rising to her knees on couch. In great 
surprise) How did you know? 

Doc. (Falling against chair, almost into Stokes' 
lap) Oh, my God! 

Stokes. (Picking up wedding invitation from 
desk, reads) "Mr. and Mrs. John Smith, twenty- 
two hundred Main Street, request pleasure 

Mary Jane Smith." 

Doc. (Repeats in daze) Mary Jane Smith. 

Mary. (Hurt) I knew it was a very common 
name, but I didn't think it was as bad as that. 

Doc. (Nervously tearing off pages from a note 
pad. They fall to floor) My dear lady, don't think 

for one moment I am It's just pecuHar — just 

extraordinary (To Stokes J Say something — 

Stokes. It certainly was a great scheme. 

Mary. I'm afraid I don't understand. (DOOR- 
BELL rings,) No doubt, that's my taxi. Will you 
see? (Stokes this time vies with Doc to see if it 
is the taxi.) 

Doc. Why, certainly! 

Stokes. Let me see ! (Reaches door first) As I 
was allowed — (Sarcastically) — to ring for the taxi, 
I think I should be permitted the privilege of seeing 
if it has arrived. 

Doc. (Trying to sneak out of door) Mary Jane 



66 MARY^S ANKLE actii 

Smith — Mary Jane (Stands like a man in a 

trance,) 

Mary. (Becomes angry) Doctor Hampton — 
(Doc comes down.) — ^you don't seem nearly as 
pleased to be left alone with me as you were a mo- 
ment ago, and I want to take back my promise to 
let you call. 

Doc. Oh, Miss Smith (Almost chokes on the 

name.) 

Mary. If the mere mention of a name affects you 
so, I 

Doc. What's in a name? (Stokes enters, very 
much agitated. Calls Doc to him and speaks in 
whisper.) 

Stokes. It's your uncle, G. P. 

Doc. Oh, Lord ! 

Stokes. He wants to meet your wife. 

Doc. (Taking Stokes r. to desk) Wait a minute. 
(Looks at Mary; whispers to StokesJ Follow my 
lead. (Aloud. Stokes at l. of desk. Doc c.) Yes. 
You say the patient insists on seeing me? 

Stokes. Yes, Doctor. 

Doc. But didn't you explain to him that I had 
another patient here? 

Stokes. (Uneasily) I did. Doctor. 

Doc. (Very professionally) Well — perhaps I can 
make Miss Smith understand. You see. Miss Smith 
— I am a specialist — not an ankle specialist — ^as you 
might suppose 

Stokes. Oh, no — no- 



Doc. But a brain specialist. 

Stokes. Yes, indeed! 

Doc. Perhaps it will be unnecessary for me to 
explain to you that there are a great many people 
in this world who suffer from one delusion and one 
only. Otherwise they are quite normal. Isn't that 
so, Stokes? 

Stokes. Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed. 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE (^^ 

Mary. Really? 

Doc. For example. Stokes here suffers under the 
delusion that he's a lawyer. 

Stokes. Yes, indeed! (Says it enthusiastically; 
realises his mistake; glares at Doc. J 

Doc. And a great many so-called crazy people 
think they are some celebrated man, Hke — Napoleon. 
Apart from that one belief they are thoroughly nor- 
mal. Isn't that so, Stoksie? 

Stokes. Yes, indeed ! (Grouchily.) 

Mary. How interesting! 

Doc. It is ! Very ! (Tries to be casual) I have one 
patient who imagines that everyone he sees — it's 
ridiculous, I know — he imagines everyone he sees 
has just been married, and goes about congratulating 
people. It's very embarrassing at times. (Stokes is 
dumfounded,) 

Mary. I should think it would be. 

Doc. He is downstairs now. 

Mary. Oh, Heavens — don't bring him in here. I 
should be terrified. I'm frightened to death at 
crazy people. 

Doc. But he's only crazy on one subject and if 
you don't disagree with him he's quite harmless. 

Mary. I'm terribly nervous, but if you say it's all 
right 

Stokes. I will be here to protect you. 

Doc. (Rises) That's not necessary at all. Ask 
him to come up. (Stokes exits L.j Now — he — he's 
liable to think I'm married or that you're married — 
of course you are not married, are you? 

Mary. Certainly not. 

Doc. Fine ! Neither am I. (Laughs foolishly and 
then catches himself) And if by any chance he 
should speak to you and congratulate you — just hu- 
mor him along and don't for a moment let him think 
it is anything strange or unnatural, will you? 



68 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

Mary. But rm in no condition to see a crazy 
man. 

Doc. (Drops on knees by couch; grabs her hand) 
Please, I never asked you to do me a favor in all 
my life before. 

Mary. Of course you haven't Why should 

you? 

Doc. Please do this It's very vital to me. I'll 

explain some time Won't you? 

Mary. Well, I'll try — ^but I do wish my taxi was 
here. 

Doc. You will be doing me a great favor. 

Mary. Then I will. 

(Enter Stokes, followed by G. P. Hampton, who 
enters with a rush. He has grip in his hand. 
G. P. stops c.) 

Doc. This is an unexpected pleasure. 

G. P. Is it? (Goes to chair l. of desk; puts down 
coat.) 
. Doc. Indeed it is. 

G. P. Before I congratulate you, I want to see 
your wife. (Mary is on her knees on couch and 
backs up gradually. She is frightened of G. P., as 
she thinks he is crazy.) 

Doc. Oh, my wife. (Makes motion to Mary. 
G. P. looks her over very critically, grins and says, 
''Ahr Mary becomes uneasy and turns to Doc for 
protection. He takes her hand soothingly. Mary 
evidently meets zmth G. P.'s approval, for his face 
gradually breaks into smiles. Everyone is much re- 
lieved, from entirely different motives, G. P. shakes 
Doc's hand.) 

G. P. My boy ! My boy ! I do congratulate you ! 
It's the first sensible thing you ever did. (To 
Stokes J By George, he's some picker, eh? And I 
suppose, my dear, I'll have to congratulate you, too. 



\ 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 69 

Mary. (Shrinks away, frightened) That isn't 
necessary. 

G. P. (To Maryj You mustn't mind my abrupt, 
blunt way — ^but I was pretty anxious to see just 
what kind of a girl that young scamp had married. 
(Turns r. j 

Mary. (To Docj Don't leave me. 

Doc. I'm with you. 

G. P. I was afraid this young man had made a 
mess of things. It didn't look just right to me. 

Doc. You hurt me, sir! 

G. P. (Laughing) I can tell you this now that 
I've seen your wife. Your old uncle is proud of 
you. (Slaps Doc on back; turns to Stokes, who 
tries to smile hut is frightened.) 

Mary. (To DocJ Uncle! (Doc points to fore- 
head to indicate G. P. is crazy.) 

G. P. Yes, sir, if I'm any judge of character, 
you're a fine girl. (Mary, in her eagerness to get 
away from G. P., has worked to head of couch, with 
Doc supporting her. G. P. holds out his hand to her, 
Mary timidly gives hers to him, G. P. shakes it 
vigorously.) 

Mary. (Very much puzzled) I thank you 

Excuse my not getting up, but I've sprained my 
ankle. , 

G. P. I'm so sorry to hear that, just as you're 
married. At any rate — (Mary moves away in 
alarm) — I want to say I'm proud to welcome you 
into the family. 

Mary. (Gazing straight out) Family? 

G. P. You know, I haven't been any too gener- 
ous with the young scamp. 

Doc. Oh, sir ! You wrong yourself. 

G. P. (Turning to MaryJ No, no, don't pretend. 
But the world seems kind of different today, and 
when I look at you two fine, healthy young people 
happily married, starting out in life together with 



70 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

each other's love to help you on, well — I see I've 
missed a lot. It's a great mistake to just make 
money and hoard it up. 

Mary. He doesn't seem crazy. 

Doc. Not when he talks like that. 

G. P. I like you — I like everything about you — 
your looks — ^your sweetness — and I like your name, 
Mary. 

Mary. Mary ! Why, how did he know ? 

Stokes. I'll go for the taxi. 

Doc. (Pulling him back by his coat tails) No, 
no ! You coward ! 

G. P. Who is that young fellow ? 

Doc. Why — he's my — her — our attorney 

G. P. Attorney? You're not getting ready for a 
divorce already? 

Doc. (Trying to laugh) Yes — no — I should say 
not — not yet, are we, Mary? 

Mary. (Again rising on her knees) No — no — not 
yet! Pardon me, but how did you know my name 
was Mary? 

Doc. Ssh — mum — tut, tut. 

G. P. You forget it was on the invitation, my 
dear. 

Mary. Invitation? What invitation? 

G. P. The wedding invitation. I was in Chicago 
when it arrived. That's why you haven't heard from 

me before. Let's see, where did I put that 

(Fumbles in his pockets of coat on chair l. of desk,) 

Doc. It's all right Don't bother— don't 

bother. Uncle. 

Mary. (Suspiciously) Then he is your uncle. 

Doc. Why — er — ^kind of an uncle. 

Mary, What kind? 

G. P. Ah, here it is. 

Mary. May I see the invitation? 

G. P. Certainly, my dear. It's the same as the 
rest of the family received. (Hands her invitation) 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 71 

And now — since youVe settled down with a fine, 
charming girl like Mary, I'm going to fix you up 
right — car, swell office, and by George ! Til buy you 
the finest bunch of knives and scissors of any doc- 
tor in town. Of course, it depends on whether you 
treat her right or not. So you see, Mary, the young 
rascal's future is in your hands. 

Doc. It certainly is. 

Mary. (Reads invitation) Oh ! Oh ! (Keeps 
saying ''OhT First she is furious. When Doc keeps 
saying, ''Oh, please!" she gradually melts with her 
''Ohs'' and becomes less angry.) 

G. P. (Sees Mary excited over invitation) 
What's the matter, Mary? 

Doc. (To Maryj I'm in your hands. Oh, please ! 

G. P. What's the matter, Mary? 

Mary. My — my ankle. (Doc and Stokes are re- 
lieved.) 

Doc. You must excuse Mary. She's very nervous 
and she has just sprained her uncle — ankle. 

G. P. Mary does look a bit pale and nervous. 
What she needs is a sea voyage. 

Mary. Indeed, I do. 

Doc. But, Uncle — we — we couldn't af?ord it. 

G. P. You leave that to me By George, that 

will be my wedding present. 

Stokes. Good night! 

G. P. You must come with me today. I'm sailing 
at five o'clock this afternoon on "The Bermudian" 
for Bermuda. 

Mary. There's something strange about this. 

Doc. We couldn't get ready in that time, could 
we, Mary. 

Mary. (Maliciously) I could! 

Doc. But my large practice. ( Stokes coughs vio- 
lently.) This is so sudden. 

G. P. Well, so was your marriage. It's the only 
way to take a trip — ^make up your mind quick. 



^2 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

You enjoy it more. Besides, you haven't had a 
honeymoon yet, have you? 

Doc. (Barely glancing at Maryj N — ^no. 

G. P. Just take a grip and throw in some of those 
pretties hanging up in the closet there. (Mary 
looks and starts violently.) This young man will 
show me where the phone is and I'll engage accom- 
modations for two. (^Stokes grabs his hat, glad to 
get out. G. P. crosses to door) And my boy, I'm 
going to give you a nice, substantial check, too. 

Doc. Check ? 

G. P. I haven't the time to make it out now. I'll 
give it to you on the boat. (Exits l. with Stokes.J 

Mary. (Turning fiercely on T>oc) Doctor Hamp- 
ton — how dare you use my name in this way? 

Doc. (Crossing to her) It's all a mistake, Mary. 

Mary. Mistake ! Do you expect me to believe 
that? Here it is in black and white — Mary Jane 
Smith — Main Street, Elizabeth, New Jersey. It's 
monstrous — I shall start a suit against you. Where's 
my attorney? (Turns around l. where Stokes was.) 

Doc. Please — please Wait until Uncle goes 

and I promise I can explain everything. 

Mary. Oh, if it weren't for this ankle. 

Doc. (Sits; takes her hand) First of all, I want 
to thank you for not giving me away. You're a 
thoroughbred — and I love you for it. 

Mary. We'll dispense with the compliments. 
What about this invitation ? 

Doc. Those are fake invitations. I give you my 
word of honor I had no idea there was a real per- 
son by that name. We took the commonest name we 

could think of (Stops; blunders) You know 

what I mean? 

Mary. No, I don't know what you mean. (Looks 
at clothes in closet) Whose clothes are these? 

Doc. They're yours ! 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 73 

Mary. What! Doctor Hampton, I think you're 
the one that needs medical attention. 

Doc. They are wedding presents sent by my dear 
relatives to Mary. I sent out some fake invitations 
because I was broke. You know that fellow Chub 
you sent down to the boat ? Well, it was his idea — 
not mine. I thought they'd send something I could 
sell — or pawn. But not my relatives. (Mary begins 
to laugh.) You believe me? (Maby laughs more.) 
Really ? Then you're not angry with me. I can face 
anything if you're not angry with me. 

Mary. (Laughing) Angry! I'm furious — ^but — 
that's all they sent for wedding gifts ? It's too funny. 
I'm just thinking what will happen on the boat. 

Doc. Believe me — there ain't going to be no boat. 
(Enter G. P. Doc goes to R.b.j 

G. P. Listen. Listen to the good news. I was 
able to get the bridal suite for you. (Doc backs into 
closet, Mary feigns collapse.) 

Mary. Oh! 

G. P. (Shyly) And my boy — I've engaged the 
bridal suite for the return trip — for myself and 
bride. 

Doc. (To Maryj I told you he was crazy. 

G. P. You two young lovers needn't think you 
have the monopoly on happiness — that's really why 
I came East — to meet an old sweetheart of mine. 
We quarrelled twenty years ago — and she married 
another man. But I'm going to meet her on the 
boat, and if she'll have me this time, why 

Mary. Why — what's her name? 

G. P. Her name is Mrs. Burns. 

Mary. And what is your name ? G. P. Hampton 
from Fargo? And did you live in Buffalo — ^years 
ago? 

G. P. How did you know? Oh, of course, George 
has been telling you. 

Mary. Yes, George has been telling me a lot. 



74 MARY'S ANKLE actii 

G. P. It's funny, but her name was Mary Jane 
Smith, too. But of course Smith is such a common 
name. 

Doc. Of course. It's too common, that's the whole 
trouble. 

Mary. Yes! 

G. P. It's just one of those little coincidences. 

Mary. It certainly is one of those little coinci- 
dences. She's my aunt. 

G. P. Your aunt! Isn't that splendid? (Goes to 
Doc; shakes his hand.) 

Doc. Isn't it? Isn't it just splendid? 

G. P. Bless my heart ! Your aunt. Just think — 
your aunt! 

Doc. Yes, just think! 

G. P. (Still shaking Doc's hand) Couldn't be bet- 
ter — could it? Just couldn't be better. 

Doc. No, it couldn't possibly be better. 

G. P. Because now Mary can help me plead my 
case with her aunt. I confess I'm very nervous. (To 
MaryJ Tell me, how does she look? 

Mary. Auntie has changed a bit — you may not 
remember her. 

G. P. Not remember her? Why, I'd know her in 
a million. Of course, she may not know me. I've 
grown — well, I haven't the figure I used to have. 
I'm afraid she'll be too disappointed to have me. 
That's the reason why I want you two as my allies. 

Doc. I'm afraid I wouldn't have much influence, 
sir. 

G. P. But Mary wouldn't go without you. 

Mary. Oh, yes, I would. 

G. P. I wouldn't think of separating you two 
young lovers. 

Mary. But really I don't mind. 

G. P. Oh, yes, you do. There has been a little 
tiflf. I saw from the first that there was something 
wrong. 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE 75 

Doc. (Scared) You did? 

G. P. But we'll straighten out everything at the 
boat. 

Doc. Really, sir — I can't go. 

G. P. Listen, my boy — we have less than one 
hour to pack up and catch that boat. 

Doc. But if you only knew. 

G. P. I only know I can't miss that boat. 
(KNOCKING on door.) 

Doc. Come in. 

Clem. (Standing at door) For Gawd's sake. 
Doctor Hampton, will you get Pollyanna home? 
Maw's driving me crazy. 

Doc. (With conviction as he shakes G. P.'s 
hand) That settles it — Uncle, I'll go. 

G. P. Of course you will. Here, young woman. 
You pack up those doo-dads in the closet there. 
(Crosses to door.) 

Clem. (Looks in closet) What! (Examines 
them; sees wrinkles) Um — hum — that's very 
strange. 

G. P. Strange — strange What's strange about 

it? 

Clem. What's strange about it? Say, you're as 
bad as he is. 

G. P. Come, my good girl — hurry, pack those 
things. (Gives her bill. At first she is indignant; 
then she looks at money, puts it in her apron pocket 
and begins to pack bag.) I'll slip downstairs a mo- 
ment. I must 'phone my bank and one or two other 
places. I'll expect you to be ready when I come 
back. (Exits i^.) 

Clem. Do you want me to pack all these things. 
Miss — Mrs. — I don't know what you are. 

Mary. You needn't bother. (Turns to Clem^ who 
recognises her for the first time and is delighted to 
see her again.) 

Doc. (To MaryJ I'm afraid I can't go. 



^6 MARY^S ANKLE actii 

Mary. But your uncle has the bridal suite for 
you. 

Doc. What? 

Mary. And Auntie and I have our stateroom. 

Clem. (Holding up nightie and pajama suit) Do 
you want these in? 

Doc. Certainly. 

Mary. Certainly not. 

Clem. Well, am I going to pack it, or am I not? 

Doc. Do as you are told and ask no questions. 

Clem. There's lots of questions could be askt if 
you askt me. Do you want all these in or just one 
set? (Holding up underwear.) 

Mary. Oh, please be quiet. 

Clem. V/ell, I was only askin^ 

Mary. Oh ! One will do. 

Clem. Then you ain't goin' to be gone long? 

Mary. Yes, quite some time. 

Clem. And you only want one set ? Oh, of course 
it ain't none of my business. 

Mary. Really, Doctor, I can't have this. 

Clem. (Slamming grip) There you are. It makes 
no difference to me if you don't take nothin' with 
you. (Exits grandly l,) 

Mary. What will she think of me? 

Doc. What could she think of you except that 
you're the sweetest, most charming 

Mary. You're not timid in every way, are you? 

Stokes. (Enters; crossing l. of couch) My 
Lord, the taxi ticks. 

Mary. Your uncle engaged accommodations for 
two. Why not take our attorney along — ^you may 
need him. 

Stokes. Where are you going — to jail? 

Doc. No, I'm going crazy. G. P. has engaged 
accommodations for Bermuda for two. What do 
you say, Stokes? 



ACT II MARY'S ANKLE jj 

Stokes, rm in favor of going any place until 
Saturday night. 

Mary. He said he would give you a check — on 
the boat. 

Stokes. Then we'll go on the boat. 

Doc. I can't face the music. 

Stokes. Looks like there's a band at both ends, 
Doc. 

G. P. (Enters) I told the landlady you'd be giv- 
ing up your room. She seemed very much put out 
about it. 

(Mrs. Merrivale and Clem enter excitedly.) 

Mrs. Merrivale. It isn't true you're going away, 
is it, Doctor? Tell me it isn't true. (Takes his 
arm.) (WARN Curtain.) 

Doc. I'm afraid it is. 

G. P. Come ! Come ! I'll have no more quibbling. 

Mrs. Merrivale. I'm not quibbling — I'm a sick 
woman and I need him. 

G. P. I told you not to take up medicine. Come 
on, everybody. 

Mary. How will I get downstairs? I can't walk. 

Stokes. Let's make a hand basket like we used 
to do when we were kids. (They do so. Mary gets 
on hand basket.) 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Shrieks) What about Polly- 
anna? 

Doc. There's a ticket in an envelope on the desk. 
You'll find Pollyanna at that address. 

Mrs. Merrivale. What place is it, a hospital ? 

Doc. Kind of a hospital, if you look at it that 
way. 

Clem. If you look at it that way? (Doc and 
Stokes are gradually backing off with Mary. J 

Doc. If you need any money for her, I'll send it 
to you along with some nice onions. 



78 



MARY'S ANKLE 



ACT II 



Clem. Onions! Where are you going? 

Doc. To Bermuda. (Mrs. Merrivale screams.) 

Clem. What for? 

Doc. My honeymoon. 

Mary. (Boxing his ear) He is not. (They exit.) 

Mrs. Merrivale. What's to become of my poor 
liver ? 

G. P. (At the door) Turn it over to some other 
doctor. 



CURTAIN 



ACT THREE 

Scene : Deck of the Steamship Bermudian, contain- 
ing the bridal suite. Stateroom Number Three 
and the saloon, in New York harbor, with 
ground row and rear showing New York sky- 
line, skyscrapers, etc. 

Ground row is constructed so as to move on 
a cue, giving effect of boat movement. Cyclo- 
rania water drop in rear. Effect of clouds and 
water. 

Chub and Mrs. Burns are discovered talk- 
ing as Curtain rises. They are standing on deck 
of steamer, outside of Stateroom Number 
Three. 

Steward enters r.i. He is rather effeminate. 

Mrs. Burns. (To Steward^ What time is it? 

Steward. It's five and twenty minutes of five. 

Mrs. Burns. Will we leave on time? 

Steward. As far as I know we will, ma'm. As 

far as I know (Exits r.u. Chub imitates him 

and laughs.) 

Mrs. Burns. (To Chubj Are you quite sure it 
is safe for her to make the trip ? 

Chub. It is only a slight sprain — the doctor said 
so. 

Mrs. Burns. Has she a good doctor? 

Chub. He says he is. You ought to see the peo- 
ple in his office. 

Mrs. Burns. Til put on a wrap and then we'll go 
to the gangplank and meet her. Excuse me just a 
moment. (She goes into stateroom.) 

79 



8o MARY'S ANKLE actiii 

G. P. (Enters r.u. with Steward^ Is this the 
bridal suite? (Chub turns at mention of bridal 
suite,) 

Steward. Yes, sir. 

G. P. Well, I want you to do the thing up right — 
understand? (Gives him a bill.) 

Steward. (Laughs) Yes, indeed. 

G. P. Spare no expense and do it quietly, as I 
want it to be a big surprise. (G. P. goes into bridal 
suite; gives him another bill. Steward laughs again 
and this annoys G. P.J 

Chub. (To Steward^ Is that the bridegroom? 

Steward. That? Oh, no, sir — the bridal couple 
are below. They're young 'uns. 

Chub. Gee! I'd like to see them. (Steward 
goes into bridal suite and can be seen through win- 
dows taking orders from G. P.) 

Mrs. Burns. (Entering from stateroom. She has 
hat on and purse in hand) And now will you take 
me downstairs? 

Chub. With pleasure. (As they near bridal 
suite) Look, they're fixing up the bridal suite for 
some poor victims. 

Mrs. Burns. Why do you say victims ? 

Chub. Everybody calls people who are just mar- 
ried or just going to be married, victims — for fun. 

Mrs. Burns. Well, I think it's rather cheap and 
vulgar fun. 

Chub. I can laugh because I'm not married. Is 
your niece ? 

Mrs. Burns. (Abstracted) My niece? Oh, no! 

G. P. (Comes out of door of bridal suite and al- 
most bumps into Mrs. Burns as she passes) I beg 
your pardon. (He backs into bridal suite. She turns 
to look after him as she rounds deck.) 

Mrs. Burns. Who is that man? Do you know 
him? 

Chub. No, I don't know He has something 



ACT III MARY^S ANKLE 8i 

to do with the bridal party, I think — ^probably the 
father of the bride. 

Mrs. Burns. Oh, I see — then it can't be 

(They exit r.i.) 

G. P. (To Steward^ as they come out of bridal 
suite) Who is that lady? (Pointing in direction 
Mrs. Burns and Chub have gone.) 

Steward. I don't know the name, sir. She and 
another lady have the stateroom next door. 

G. P. She and another lady? Then it can't be — 
(Gives him tip. Steward laughs again.) Well, you 
attend to everything for me and do it as quickly 
and quietly as possible. (G. P. exits r.i. Steward 
shuts door of bridal suite and starts to follow.) 

(Mary, Stokes and Doc enter from r.u. Doc and 
Stokes are carrying Mary in hand-basket fash- 
ion as in Exit of Act IL) 

Mary. (Looking behind) Please hurry. 

Steward. (Looking on with surprise at Mary''s 
ankle) Shall I get you a wheel-chair, sir? 

Doc. That's not a bad idea at all. 

Steward. (Hurrying off r.i) Right away, sir. 
Poor thing, she's sprained her ankle. 

Mary. Isn't it ridiculous the way people stare at 
anything out of the ordinary? 

Doc. You can't blame the people for that. It's 
all I've done for an hour. 

Mary. Oh, I'm not flattering myself they're look- 
ing at me. 

Stokes. Well — they are in a way. (Glances at 
ankle.) 

Doc. Stokes, eyes front. (Commandingly.) 

Mary. (Tries to hide her bare foot under her 
dress) Crowds are the most ridiculous things, any- 
way. All one need do is something unusual and — -r? 

Stokes. Where have I heard that before? 



82 



MARY'S ANKLE 



ACT III 



(Together) 



Doc. I wonder where he is? 

Mary. Who ? 

Doc. The Columbus of the wedding invitations. 

Mary. Oh, yes — those wedding invitations! 
Please put me down. (They do so.) 

Doc. Lean on me! \ 

Stokes. Lean on me ! j 

Mary. Mr. Attorney, will you find out from the 
Purser just where my stateroom is? 

Stokes. I'm afraid you can't stand alone. 

Doc. Alone ? Did you say alone ? 

Mary. I can stand on one foot — like a stork — if 
Doctor Hampton will support me. 

Doc. Support you? I ask no more in life than 
that. 

Mary. Please don't be silly., 

Stokes. You don't know how silly it is. 

Doc. Run along, Mr. Attorney, and find out 
where the lady's stateroom is. 

Mary. Please do — because I want to be settled 
before my aunt sees me. 

Stokes. I'll hurry right back. 

Doc. Don't hurry on my account — I'm strong — 
(Stokes exits r.i) — for Mary. 

Mary. This is the first chance I've had to be 
alone with you. 

Doc. I know. Did you ever see such a bunch of 
glue merchants? 

Mary. That isn't what I mean at all. I want to 
know exactly what you are going to do. 

Doc. I know what I'd like to do. (Leaning 
toward her as though he would kiss her. Starts to 
kiss her as Steward and G. P. are appearing on 
scene. G. P. nods head and motions to Steward.^ 

G. P. Aren't they the loving couple? (He exits 

Steward. (Coming forward and grinning fool- 
ishly) Can I do anything for you ? 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE 83 

Doc. Yes — ^you can jump overboard. 

Steward. (Smiling slyly) Oh, I see. 

Mary. You don't see at all. 

Steward. (Still smiling) I promise not to see 
another thing. I didn't realize for the moment 

Mary. You didn't realize what ? 

Steward. Nothing — nothing at all. 

Mary. You're quite ridiculous. We're — I'm 
merely looking for my stateroom. 

Steward. It's right here, madam. (Points to 
bridal suite.) 

Doc. Are you sure? 

Steward. Yes, sir. 

Mary. Will you help me there, please? 

Doc. I'll carry you in. (Picks her up and carries 
her.) 

Steward. That's very romantic, I'm sure. (Mary 
and Doc glare at him ) 

Mary. I don't think this is my room. (Inside 
door of bridal suite) I don't see my bags here 

Steward. Yes, ma'm — that's the bridal suite. 

Mary. (Alarmed that someone might see her 
there) The bridal suite ? 

Doc. That's my room ! 

Steward. Yes, sir — and if I may be allowed to 
say so — I wish you both much happiness. (Exits r.i 
with his funny laugh.) 

Mary. Take me out of here! Do you hear? 
Take me out of here. Take me out of here. What 
made that Steward think — what he thought? 

Doc. I don't know. I didn't send him any invi- 
tation. Perhaps it was because I had my arm around 
your waist. 

Mary. Then take your arm away at once. 

Doc. You'll fall if I do. 

Mary. I'll be compromised if you don't. (Doc 
takes arm away and Mary totters. Doc walks to l., 
Mary hopping after him on one foot until they are 



mmtm 



84 MARY'S ANKLE actiii 

at extreme l., then Doc steps hack with her to bri- 
dal suite, humming as he does so.) 

Doc. See — ^you can't do without me. Only storks 
can stand that way successfully. Wonderful bird, 
the stork! 

Mary. Who said anything about storks? 

Doc. Why, you did. 

Mary. I did not. 

Doc. Now, Mary Jane, I heard you say it. Doc- 
tors and storks have a certain community of asso- 
ciation. 

Stokes. (Enters r.i hurriedly, carrying steamer 
chair, folded up. Out of breath) Was I long? 

Doc. You must have met yourself coming back. 

Mary. Did you find the number of my stateroom? 

Stokes. No. There was a long line in front of 
the Purser's window, so I brought this chair to make 
you comfortable in the meantime. 

Doc. (Sarcastically) Now, wasn't that sweet of 
you! 

Mary. (Reproving Docj It was! Very consid- 
erate. 

Doc. You arrange the chair and I will lift her in 
it. (Lifts Mary up.) 

Stokes. (Funny business opening steamer chair) 
Shall I put it there ? 

Doc. No — I think over here. (Stokes moves it.) 

Stokes. Here? (During this scene Doc looks in- 
tently at Mary and pays no attention to Stokes. J 

Doc. No, I think your first suggestion was best. 

Stokes. (Fixing steamer rug) Of course it was. 
There, now! 

Doc. A little further over here. 

Stokes. Oh (Impatiently.) 

Doc. Now face this way. 

Stokes. It is facing this way. 

Doc. Then put it back again. 

Stokes. What's the matter ? Don't you like that? 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE 85 

(Chair is finally placed in c. of space between bridal 
suite and tormenter.) 

Doc. I think it's wonderful. (Looking at Mary.J 

Stokes. (Looking up) Say — what is this? 

Doc. (Turns to Stokes, Mary still in his arms) 
Oh — ^yes, it's a steamer chair, isn't it? 

Stokes. Pay a little attention to me, will you ? 

Doc. I'm paying as little as possible. (Takes 
Mary to chair and puts her in it.) 

Stokes. And don't try any of your cheap comedy 
on me. What do you think I am? 

Doc. I think you're a very good lawyer if you 
ever get a chance. 

Stokes. (To MaryJ Does the chair suit you? 

Mary. Perfectly. 

Stokes. (Looking triumphantly at Doc) Well, 
that's all I care about. 

Mary. And now will you be good enough to find 
out the number of my stateroom? (Doc laughs. 
Mary is sending Stokes away again.) 

Stokes. Certainly — right away. 

Doc. And don't lose your place in the line this 
time. (Stokes exits r.i and bumps into Steward, 
who is carrying basket of fruit. Stokes steals a 
piece. Steward also has huge bouquet of flowers. 
He smiles broadly at Mary and Doc and enters 
bridal suite.) 

Stokes. I beg pardon, Captain. 

Mary. Why does he smile at us in that silly way ? 
Tell him to stop it. 

Doc. Well, I don't know whether I can stop a 
man from smiling. 

Mary. That's the second time it's happened. 

Doc. I'll speak to him. (To Steward^ Steward, 
why did you smile in that peculiar way just now? 

Steward. Did I smile in a peculiar way, sir? 

Doc. You certainly did. 

Steward. It's the only smile I've got, sir. 



86 MARY^S ANKLE actiii 

Mary. FII complain to the Captain. Is there any- 
thing unusual about us? (The Steward grins,) 

Doc. You hear what the lady says? 

Steward. That's all right, sir — they're all bash- 
ful when they come on board. 

Doc. They? All? 

Steward. Yes, sir — they all try to hide it at first. 

Doc. Well, understand this — I have nothing to 
hide. 

Steward. (Looking significantly at DocJ I should 
say you haven't. I wouldn't hide her either. (Exits 
R.I.) 

Doc. (Following Steward a few steps) Con- 
found him! 

Mary. How terrible! He thinks we're married, 
too. Go at once to the Purser and the Captain and 
tell them we're not married — tell the whole ship. 

Doc. But I can't go about the ship saying "I'm 
not married — I'm not married !" 

Mary. Well, stop them some way. I don't care 
how you do it. Hurry, do you hear ? I won't have it. 
(Doc exits R.u. Mary tries to rise, but finds she 
cannot,) 

Chub. (Enters from r.i) Oh, there you are. 
How's the ankle? 

Mary. Splendid, thank you. Where is my aunt? 

Chub. She's waiting for you at the gangplank. 
(Bends attentively over Mary and takes her hand 
as G. P. comes around deck r.u. He looks sur- 
prised; shakes his head disapprovingly. G. P. is 
smoking cigar and emphasizes the following scene 
by puffing at it.) 

Mary. Was she worried about me? 

Chub. No, indeed — I fixed everything fine. 

Mary. Thank you so much — I knew you would. 

Chub. Did you notice the expression on Doc's 
face when I left today? 

Mary. No. 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE 87 

Chub. If looks could have killed, I would have 
been in the morgue an hour ago. 

Mary. Really? 

Chub. Yes. He's terribly jealous of me. (G. P. 
is standing by door of bridal suite,) 

Mary. Is he ? 

Chub. I should say he is. But we don't care 
anything about him, do we? 

Mary. No. We don't care anything about him. 
(G. P. is puffing cigar,) 

Chub. May I call on you when you return from 
Bermuda ? 

Mary. We shall see — ^when I return from Ber- 
muda. (G. P. exits R.I with the attitude of fear for 
Doc. Doc and Stokes enter, unobserved. They 
hear Chub talking to Mary and listen. They enter 
from around deck r.u. and lean against bridal suite.) 

Chub. I hope you won't be gone long. (Starts 
to go, but stops and laughs) I was just thinking 
what a laugh I'd have on the boys when I get back. 

Mary. Why? 

Chub. Why? They'll pass away with envy be- 
cause I'm the only one to see you off. 

Mary. What m^akes you think the other boys 
won't come down to the boat? 

Chub. Oh, I know they won't come down. They 
have very important business to transact with a man 
from the West. As a matter of fact, I should be 
with them now. They can't make a move without 
me. 

Stokes and Doc. Yes ? 

Chub. (Surprised) Well, of all the nerve ! Had 
to come down to the boat, didn't you? 

Doc. We had to come, all right. 

Stokes. It's a shame. Chub, for you to speak 
that way of us. 

Doc. Yes, it cuts us to the quick. 

Chub. You fellov/s haven't got a quick. 



88 MARY'S ANKLE act in 

Mary. (To Chubj Will you please tell my aunt 
I'm here? 

Stokes. Run along, Chubby — run along. 

Chub. Don't talk to me in that superior manner. 
(Chub goes off r.i in a rage, Stokes keeps shooing 
him off.) 

Mary. (To StokesJ What Is the number of my 
stateroom ? 

Stokes. It's number three. 

Mary. I want to go to it. (They Both offer to 
carry her. She ^notions them away) I thought that 
Steward said he would bring a wheelchair immedi- 
ately. I suppose if we had tipped him he would 
have found one quickly enough. (Boys look at each 
other,) Will you hurry it along, Mr. Attorney? 

Doc. Yes — run along, Stoksie — run along. 

(Stokes hacks away reluctantly, making motion to 
Doc that he has no money.) 

Mary. And Doctor Hampton — please see where 
stateroom Number Three is. 

Stokes. (Grinning maliciously) Yes — run along, 
Doc — run along. 

Doc. Don't you know where it is, Stokes? 

Stokes. (Looks at door and sees Number Three) 
No, I haven't the faintest idea. I think it's on the 
other side of the boat. (Exits r.i.) 

Doc. (Looks up and sees Number Three) Here 
is stateroom Number Three. You see, Fate decrees 
we shall not part. 

Mary. Fate has nothing to do with this case, 
Doctor Hampton, and don't act frivolously with me. 
The only reason I didn't expose you this afternoon 
is because your uncle is going to marry my aunt 
and you are sort of in the family. 

(Chub and Mrs. Burns come on together r.i.) 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE 89 

Chub. Here she is, Mrs. Burns. 

Mrs. Burns. Oh, my dear child — how do you 
feel? How is your ankle? 

Mary. (Kisses Auntj It's only a slight sprain, 
Auntie, and it will be well in no time, won't it. 
Doctor? 

Doc. (Professionally) With a little attention — I 
think we need have no fear. (Chub is r. Doc l. 
of Chub. Mary in chair and Mrs. Burns l. of 
chair.) 

Mrs. Burns. (Very much surprised) Is this the 
doctor ? 

Mary. Oh, I beg your pardon, Auntie. This is 
Doctor 

Mrs. Burns. (Interrupting her) Is this really 
the Doctor? 

Chub. Oh, yes, he's a real doctor. 

Mrs. Burns. Aren't you very young to be a doc- 
tor? This seems to be the age for young people. 

Chub. That's what I tell him. 

Doc. Let's not discuss what you tell me. You 
know, Mrs. Burns, I've had the pleasure of meeting 
you before. (Shows flag) Don't you remember Tag 
Day? 

Mrs. Burns. That's what this young man said. 

Doc. He did. He seems to have been talking 
quite a lot — as usual. Don't mind my friend, Mrs. 
Burns — he's irresponsible. Suffers mental trouble. 

Mary. Mental trouble again. (Stops abruptly) 
That reminds me — Mr. Merchant Chief — the doc- 
tor and I have something to tell my aunt — ^privately. 
Will you excuse us just a moment? 

Chub. Why, certainly, Miss Burns. (Doc pushes 
Chub off r.i.) 

Mary. Miss Burns! Did he say Miss Burns? 

Mrs. Burns. What is the great secret? 

Mary. Auntie — the doctor's name is Hampton. 

Mrs. Burns. Hampton? 



90 MARY'S ANKLE actiii 

Mary. Yes, and he's a nephew of your Mr. 
Hampton. 

Mrs. Burns. Really — ^you must be Andrew 
Hampton's son. 

Doc. I am. Did you know my dad? 

Mrs. Burns. Know him? Why, your father, 
your uncle and I grew up together, and what a 
harum-scarum, mischievous scamp your father was 
— always doing the most impossible things. 

Mary. Do you believe in heredity, Doctor? 

Doc. There's nothing to it at all. (Anxious to 
change conversation) How — how's the ankle? 

Mary. It is scarcely swollen at all, see ? 

Mrs. Burns. Why, Mary — you don't mean to 
say you came through the streets with your foot 
bare? 

Mary. I'm afraid I did. 

Doc. We came in a taxi. 

Mrs. Burns. Where is your shoe and stocking? 

Mary. I don't know. 

Mrs. Burns. What's this? (Sees edge of stock- 
ing peeping out of Dock's handkerchief pocket and 
pulls it out) Let us go into our cabin and put it on. 

Doc. I think I'd better bandage up the ankle 
first. (They go in stateroom Number Three as 
Chub comes around deck R.u. Mrs. Burns first. 
Mary and Doc follow.) That was a hurried job 
before. May I come in? (Doc starts in.) 

Mary. Yes, we will have more privacy in there. 
(Looks at Chub.j 

Chub. Maybe I can help you. (Doc hesitates. 
Doc slams door in Chub's face.) 

Chub. Nerve! (Pulls himself together as G. P. 
comes around deck r.u.^ followed by Steward with 
more flowers and a basket of fruit.) 

G. P. Come on — the coast's clear. 

Steward. (Stands with back to Chub, who takes 
a piece of fruit and puts it in his pocket,) 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE 91 

Steward. Will you open the door for me, sir? 
Both my hands are full. 

G. P. (Does so) You want more waiting on than 
any prima donna I ever saw. (Steward exits into 
bridal suite.) 

Chub. (Looking at door of bridal suite) Looks 
like a big night, doesn't it? 

G. P. Yes, indeed — we're preparing a little sur- 
prise for the bride and groom. 

Chub. Well, I certainly wish them peace and 
happiness. 

G. P. That's very nice of you, young man. 

Chub. You're giving them a good start. 

G. P. I suppose you're going to Bermuda. 

Chub. No — I just came to say goodbye to a very 
particular friend of mine — ^young lady. 

G. P. Young lady? Well, if you'd care to intro- 
duce me, I'll look after her on the way down — and 
by the way, that's the reason why I'm here myself 
— lady. 

Chub. (Nudges G. P. and 'they both laugh) 
Lady ! — I'll bet this is going to be some trip. 

G. P. I'll take half your bet. 

Chub. You know at first I thought you were 
the bridegroom. 

G. P. Not yet. 

Chub. But soon? 

G. P. I hope. By the way, didn't I see you talking 
to my niece just now? 

Chub. (Shaking G. P.'s hand cordially) Is she 
your niece? Well — well — I'm glad to meet you, sir. 
I certainly would like to take this trip. The truth 
is, I can't spare the time right now. I'm very much 
interested in the market. 

G. P. Is that so ? I'm slightly interested myself. 
Have a cigar? 

Chub. (Taking cigar and waxing important under 
G. P.'s friendship) Thanks. 



92 MARY'S ANKLE act in 

G. P. Shall we take a little stroll around the 
deck ? 

Chub. With pleasure. 

G. P. How are conditions in the Street right now ? 

Chub. Well, now, I'll tell you my idea of the 
present situation. Now, Fve made an exhaustive 
study. (Starts to exit. Takes G. P.'s arm in friend- 
ly fashion. As they go off r.i Stokes humps into 
them with wheelchair. He is surprised at seeing 
Chub and G. P. together,) 

Stokes. I beg your pardon. 

Chub. (Ignoring him) Please be careful where 
you are going, young man. (Walks pompously off 
with G. P.) 

G. P. (In passing) That chair will get you into 
trouble yet, young man, rolling you around the deck 
like that. 

Stokes. You big stiff! (As he says this he is 
turning away from Chub and is glancing toward 
bridal suite. Steward^ who has just entered, thinks 
he is addressing him.) 

Steward. (With indignation) I beg your par- 
don. Were you speaking to me ? 

Stokes. Is your name Stiff? 

Steward. No, sir. Smith. 

Stokes. Smith ! That isn't a name. It's an epi- 
demic. 

Steward. Epidemic? Oh, no, sir. There is noth- 
ing like that the matter with me. My name is Smith, 
not Stiff. 

Stokes. Is the decoration appropriate? 

Steward. (Standing by door of bridal suite) 
Decoration? I think so, sir. Just step inside and 
see. I didn't know you belonged to the bridal party. 
Best man, I presume? 

Stokes. No, I'm the bride. Go to the devil. 
(Wheels chair to Number Three.) 

Steward. (Starting off) I never saw such a 



■L 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE 93 

touchy bridal party — you'd think they all committed 
some crime. (Exits r.i.) 

Stokes. (Knocking at door) I have the chair 
here. 

Doc. (Opens door) What is it? 

Stokes. (Surprised) What? You here? Say — 
this is going a little bit too far, old man. 

Doc. What do you mean? Her aunt is there. 

Stokes. Oh ! 

Doc. Besides, I was rendering professional ser- 
vices. 

Stokes. That's a great alibi — that professional 
stuff. 

Doc. Gee, I'm glad you knocked on the door just 
then. Mary is telling her aunt about the invitation. 
I— I— don't feel well. 

Stokes. I have news that will make you happy. 
Who do you suppose I saw talking to your uncle 
just now? 

Doc. Who? 

Stokes. Chub. 

Doc. Chub ! How did he meet G. P. ? 

Stokes. Search me. They just went around the 
deck arm in arm, like a couple of college chums. 
(They go up and look off r,v.) 

Doc. Oh, he'll spill the beans as sure as you're 
alive. (Down c.l.J 

Stokes. I don't think he knows who G. P. is. It's 
a cinch G. P. doesn't know who he is, because he 
was taking Chub seriously. 

Doc. What do you suppose G. P. will do when 
he finds out? 

Stokes. Well, the worst he can do is to put us 
in irons. 

Chub. (Enter Chub and G. P., r.u. They are 
very confidential and G. P. is listening earnestly to 
Chub. Chub is smoking his cigar luxuriously) And 



94 MARY'S ANKLE actiii 

Morgan says to me, "Probably you're right, young 
man," and that's the way I saved the situation. 

G. P. That's a very good idea. (Doc and Stokes 
exchange glances.) I'll take the matter up with 
you when I return. Where can I reach you — care 
of Morgan? 

Chub. Yes, by the time you get back I guess that 
will be all right. 

Stokes. Oh, Chub — ^just a minute — Chub! 
(Chub glances at him, undecided whether to recog- 
nise him or not, Stokes speaks sternly) Come 
here! (Chub yields,) 

Doc. (To G. P.) May I see you alone, sir? 

G. P. (To Chub^ very deferentially) You'll ex- 
cuse me? 

Chub. (Up and down l.J Certainly. 

G. P. (To Doc j Have you seen the decorations ? 
(Indicating bridal suite.) 

Doc. No. 

G. P. Shall we step in here and talk ? 

Doc. If you like. 

G. P. (Just before entering) Wasn't it lucky I 
could get the bridal suite? 

Doc. Yes, indeed! 

G. P. I fixed everything fine for you, didn't I ? 

Doc. You certainly did. You fixed things great. 
(Doc and G. P. exit into bridal suite.) 

Stokes. (Fiercely) Come on, now. What have 
you been telling him? (Seizes Chub by arm.) 

Chub. (Still trying to be superior; wrenches his 
arm free and brushes sleeve) Really, Stokes, you 
mustn't be so familiar, when I'm talking to people 
of prominence. That's a very important man. 

Stokes. You bet your Hfe he's an important man. 

Chub. Well, don't interrupt me when I'm talking 
to people like that. 

Stokes. No? I'll interrupt your useless life if 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE 95 

you have told him or anybody else on this ship 
anything about the invitations. 

Chub. (Pathetically) Say, Stokes — this is no 
way to talk to a pal. Just because those wedding 
presents were a trifle — disappointing, you and Doc 
treat me as if I had the smallpox. 

Stokes. Well, you do as I say or you'll wish you 
had the smallpox before the day is over. 

Chub. (Starts r.) All right — Fm through — our 
friendship ends right here. 

Stokes. (Delighted) You promise me that? 

Chub. I wouldn't speak to you again if you were 
the last man living. Goodbye. 

Stokes. Goodbye! (Chub turns abruptly to go 
R. just as the door of stateroom Number Three opens 
and Mrs. Burns looks out.) 

Mrs. Burns. Have you the wheelchair for my 
niece ? 

Chub. Yes, Mrs. Burns. 

Mrs. Burns. That's splendid — It's just in time. 

Mary. (From inside) Oh, Mr. Merchant-Chief 
— will you introduce my attorney to my Aunt? 

Mrs. Burns, (r, of door) Yes, do. 

Chub. (Forgetting his quarrel with Stokesj 
With pleasure. Mrs. Burns, this is my very dear 
friend, Mr. Stokes. 

Mrs. Burns. How do you do, Mr. Stokes? 

Stokes. (Crossing to her) I've met you before 
on Tag Day. 

Mrs. Burns. You, too? I seem to have met all 
Greater New York on Tag Day. 

Stokes. I didn't think you were the aunt. 

Mrs. Burns. Why not? 

Stokes. One always thinks of a pretty girl's aunt 
as a severe, spectacled old lady who scares away 

all men — but you Well, me for Auntie ! (Mrs. 

Burns is l. of stateroom Number Three, Stokes 
stands close to her. Chub is l. of him.) 



96 MARY'S ANKLE actiii 

Chub. Here, Stokes — don't be rude. 

Mrs. Burns. Rude ? I think that's a very pretty 
compHment. 

Chub. But he's not respectful. 

Mrs. Burns. It's very consoling to a woman of 
my age to have a young man disrespectful, but not 
rude. 

Stokes. Thanks! You look like you'd under- 
stand a fellow. 

Chub. (To Mary, as she appears at door) Shall 
I help you ? 

Stokes. Let me help you. (They help her out.) 

Mrs. Burns. Be careful, dear. 

Mary. You know it really isn't painful at all — 
except when I put my weight on it. (Sits in chair.) 

Mrs. Burns. Will you young men wheel my 
niece around the deck? (Stokes goes to handle of 
wheelchair. They exit R.i ad libbing. G. P. and Doc 
come out of bridal suite as Steward enters r.i with 
more flowers.) 

Steward. (When Doc and G. P. open door) 
Can I get in here? 

G. P. Yes, I guess we must vacate and give this 
soprano a chance. (Steward exits bridal suite, 
Mrs. Burns enters r.i and goes in Number Three.) 
Look, my boy. Who is that lady going into the 
stateroom ? 

Doc. That's Mary's aunt. 

G. P. It is? And I didn't recognize her! (Goes 
up stage. Starts for her room and hesitates) She'll 
be offended at me for not remembering. 

Doc. But Uncle, I have something to explain. 

G. P. Not now, my boy — not now. Can't you see 
I'm too excited to listen to anything now? 

Doc. (Enthusiastically) Then when the ship 
sails I'll tell you everything. (Mrs. Burns enters 
from her stateroom.) 

G. P. Call her. Hurry — she's walking away. 



flHHHWMHMMflHBttUMHL 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE 97 

(Walks up stage; smoothes hair and arranges tie, 
etc.) 

Doc. (Calls out) Mrs. Burns — Mrs. Burns! 
Just a moment, please. 

G. P. (Coming down stage so Mrs. Burns can 
see him) Mary! 

Mrs. Burns. George! (They stand looking at 
each other a moment in silence. Doc looks from, 
one to the other.) 

Doc. I think I can ask for my passports now. 
(Exits R.I.) 

Mrs. Burns. And to think, George — ^you didn't 
even know me! (Going to steamer-chair; sits on 
arm.) 

G. P. (Uncomfortable) But Mary — I had no idea 
you would grow so much more beautiful. 

Mrs. Burns. (Laughs) That pretty speech makes 
up for it in a measure, although I am disappointed. 

G. P. (Fearfully, thinkhig of his waist measure) 
Really, Mary? I was afraid of that. But after 
twenty years of loneliness — Fm satisfied if you'll 
just tolerate me. (Steward enters r.i; laughs and 
exits R.i.) There are more funny noises on this 
ship (Laughs. Comes close to her.) 

Mrs. Burns. Remember we're on deck. 

G. P. No, we're not. I'm very close to Paradise. 
(WHISTLE blows violently) Confound that! 

Mrs. Burns. You see we are on deck. They 
don't have whistles in Paradise. 

Chub. (Enters R.U.J Excuse me. 

G. P. (Looking at ChubJ No ; nor rude young 
intruders. 

Chub. I just wanted to say goodbye, sir. 

G. P. Goodbye, young man ; goodbye. 

Chub. (To Mrs. Burnsj I hope to see you when 
you get back. You and your niece. (G. P. looks at 
Chub disapprovingly.) Goodbye, Mrs. Burns. 

G. P. Mrs. Burns, that's right. Somehow, I never 



98 MARY'S ANKLE actiii 

can think of you as Mrs. Burns. You'll always be 
Mary Jane Smith to me. 

Chub. What? 

G. P. Look here, young man, I'm speaking to the 
lady. 

Chub. Did you say Mary Jane Smith? 

G. P. Get out! 

Chub. (As he crosses to Mrs. BurnsJ Pardon 
me, but where do you live? 

Mrs. Burns. In Elizabeth, New Jersey. 

Chub. (As he goes out) In EHzabeth ! Oh, Doc 
— Doc! (Chub backs into wall and stumbles out 
R.U. in confusion. G. P. and Mrs. Burns follow to 
rail upstage and look after him,) 

Mrs. Burns. (Smiling) Queer Uttle fellow, isn't 
he? 

G. P. He's an impertinent bounder ! Just because 
I spoke to him a few minutes ago, he presumes en- 
tirely too much. (Up C.J 

Mrs. Burns. There's your nephew and my niece. 

G. P. Our nephew and niece. 

Mrs. Burns. (Charmingly) That young man 
isn't the only one who presumes. 

G. P. She's my niece by marriage. 

Mrs. Burns. Supreme presumption ! (Down u) 

G. P. Well, we'll go into that later. How about a 
stroll around the deck? 

Mrs. Burns. All right. I'll get my coat. I'll be 
out in a moment. (She starts across deck and exits 
Number Three,) 

Doc. (Rushes on from r.u. to G. P.) Do you re- 
member, I asked you to do something for me and 
you promised you would? 

G. P. Yes. 

Doc. Well, will you do it now? 

G. P. Certainly I'll do it now. (Chub, Mary and 
Stokes enter r.u.J 

Mary. (To ChubJ Will you take this chair 



ACT III MARY^S ANKLE 99 

away ? I don't like it. It's too much like an invalid. 
(Chub exits r.u. with wheelchair, Mary sits in 
steamer-chair.) 

G. P. Mary, I've been talking to this young chap 
and I think if you'll wait until the boat sails we can 
fix things up. 

Doc. You see — he understands. 

Mary. (Is puzzled) Oh ! You've told him. 

G. P. I know how to make you all happy. I'll give 
you your wedding present. (Mary is startled. Doc 
and Stokes show renewed interest in life.) I think 
you and Mary would rather have a check than some 
useless ornament. Am I right? (Takes out check- 
hook and fountain-pen.) 

Doc. Uncle, you are right — write Isn't he, 

Mary? 

Mary. Oh, yes. Uncle is right. 

G. P. But as I believe in the wife handling the 
bank account, I'll make it out to Mary. (Doc and 
Stokes almost collapse, Mary is amused and 
laughs at Doc. j 

Mary. I can't accept this. Listen 

G. P. (Blustering) Not a word now. Take it to 
please me. (Doc tries to get check, but Mary 
snatches it away.) And would you like to see the 
bridal suite now ? (Crosses R.J 

Mary. I? I can't walk. 

G. P. Then get loving young hubby to carry you. 
Lucky dog! (Goes into bridal suite,) 

Mary. You haven't told him? 

Doc. I can't seem to lead up to it, somehow. I 
think I'd better write him a letter. 

Mary. Don't talk to me at all. (Picks up book 
and starts to read. Chub enters r.u.J 

Stokes. (Looks at watch) Five minutes more 
and we are safe. (Goes to Doc.j 

Doc. We're safe now, if we can trust this dyna- 
sorous for five minutes. 



100 MARY'S ANKLE actiii 

Chub. Don't worry about me. If you had as 
many brains in your head as I have 

Doc. Your head was the inspiration for the Ther- 
mos bottle — a perfect vacuum. 

(GONG rings.) 

Steward. (Enters r.i ; exits R.u.j All ashore — ? 
last call — all ashore ! (GONG rings,) 

Doc and Stokes. Do you hear that? (Doc and 
Stokes rush to Chub with one accord.) 

Doc. Why don't you get off the ship? 

Chub. Why don't you get off yourself? 

Stokes. Because, Cutie, we're going to Bermuda. 

Chub. That's funny! Bermuda! You two 
couldn't take a trip to Hoboken. 

Doc. Ah — but we don't like Hoboken — we like 
Bermuda. (G. P. steps out of bridal suite,) 

Stokes. Yes, the doctor and myself are going to 
Bermuda. 

G. P. (To StokesJ Oh, are you coming along, 
too? 

Stokes. Why, yes, didn't you know? 

G. P. No. 

Doc. Yes, indeed. I've induced my attorney to 
come along also. 

G. P. Is that so? 

Chub. (Sarcastically) You've induced 

Doc. (Ignoring Chub and speaking to G. P.^ 
Isn't that splendid? 

G. P. Yes — it's all right — if he can spare the 
time. 

Chub. Ha ha ! 

G. P. (Thoroughly annoyed) Say, what is the 
matter with that Wall Street young fellow ? 

Stokes. And, as I was changing my rooms any- 
way — this seemed the best under the circumstances. 

G. P. That's right. It will do you good. Great 
place, Bermuda! 

Stokes. Oh, yes, I've heard of its beauties! 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE loi 

(Clem enters r.u.^ unobserved. She has a telegram 
in one hand and pawn-ticket in the other) The won- 
derful corals, the lillies 

Clem. Yes, and the onions. (Boys move.) Here 
they are, Maw ! Yes ! You'd better sneak. 

Mrs. Mekrivale. (Enters r.u. To Docj You 
viper that I've nourished in my bosom. 

Doc. (Coming down c. between Clem and Mary. 
Boys are upstage and G. P. is l. of steamer-chair) 
How did you find out where we were? 

Clem. I found this telegram on the desk. 

Doc. You find lots of things on my desk. Did 
you come down purposely to see me off? 

Clem. Purposely. 

Doc. How sweet of you, Clementine. 

Clem. Yes, wasn't it? I come to see you off, all 
right — off the ship and sent to jail. 

Chub. Jail ! 

Clem. I'm glad you're here. You were a wit- 
ness. (Pointing to Chub^ who backs upstage,) 

Doc. I don't understand. 

Clem. No? Well, maybe you can understand 
this. (Points to pawn-ticket.) 

G. P. What is it? 

Doc. A little matter I forgot. 

Mrs. Merrivale. Forgot! I hate to be hard on 
a doctor whose medicine I've enjoyed so much, but 
you knew perfectly well I'd need some money for 
Pollyanna — three dollars and ninety cents and five 
dollars for her board. 

Mary. Her board ? That's dreadful ! 

G. P. What have you been doing, young man — 
trifling ? 

Clem. I should say he has. 

Mary. Paying her board! 

Doc. No, I haven't been paying anything. 

G. P. Do you owe this money? 

Doc. Yes, sir, I do. 



I02 MARY'S ANKLE act in 

G. P. What — and you admit it right in front of 
your wife? 

Mrs. Merrivale. His wife ! I thought he was a 
gentleman — not a married man. 

Chub. (Starts r.J He is not! 

Stokes. (Pulling Chub back) Keep still, you 
idiot. 

G. P. Did he tell you he wasn't married? 

Clem. Did he? Why, only this afternoon he 
gave me his word of honor he wasn't married. 

G. P. What's this? 

Mrs. Merrivale. (She is almost in tears and de- 
liberately creates the impression it was a love affair) 
He promised me faithfully he wouldn't leave me. 

G. P. The mother, too? This is beyond belief. 

Mary. Mother! Daughter! Pollyanna is prob- 
ably the grandchild. 

Mrs. Merrivale. It's a serpent I've nourished in 
my bosom. 

Mary. I'm glad I found out in time. 

Clem. This young man heard him. 

Chub. Let me explain. 

Stokes. (Pulls him back) Keep out of this, you 
idiot. 

G. P. (To DocJ If there is anything between 
you and this young woman 

Mrs. Merrivale. (Crosses to him) You horrid 
old man ! What are you try in' to do — make my in- 
nocent little girl a correspondent? (Puts her arm 
around Clem and in patting her, keeps pushing her 
hat to one side, Clem protests vigorously and final- 
ly pushes her mother's arm away.) 

Mary. Of course — it's nothing to me. 

G. P. Nothing to you It should be every- 
thing to you. 

Mary. However, I do think — under the circum- 
stances — an explanation is due. (Clem is r., then 
Mrs. Merrivale. Doc is next to Mary in steamer- 



ACT in MARY'S ANKLE 103 

chair. G. P. at l. of chair. Chub and Stokes M/^ 

G. P. It certainly is. 

Doc. If you just give me a chance, I can explain 
everything. 

, Mary. Yes, give him a chance and he can explain 
anything. 

Mrs. Merrivale. And to think that I trusted 
him so. 

Chub. (Crosses to G. P. Stokes follows) I 
think I can clear things up. He isn't married — I 
assure you. 

G. P. You don't know what you're talking about. 

Chub. I give you my word of honor he isn't 
married. (Stoke tries in vain to shut up Chub. J 

G. P. Don't be a damned fool — he is married. 

Chub. I tell you he isn't. 

G. P. How do you know? He isn't married to 
you. 

Chub. How do you know, he isn't married to 
you either? 

G. P. I'm his uncle — I ought to know. 

Chub. Oh, my God ! (Backs up l. with Stokes.^ 

Stokes. (Softly) Now are you satisfied? 

Chub. How was I to know ? 

Mary. And now, if it isn't asking too much, will 
you be good enough to explain your relations with 
these ladies ? (Mrs. Merrivale gives a little scream.) 

Doc. I promised this lady I would not leave her 
because she became unstrung when she realized she 
would be deprived of my professional services — so 
to protect Mrs. Merrivale's health I told her I was 
not married. 

Chub. I can vouch for that. 

G. P. I wouldn't believe you. 

Mrs. Merrivale. Was it really to protect my 
health? (Placing her hand fondly on Doc's arm. 
He takes it off.) 



I04 MARY'S ANKLE actiii 

Doc. Yes — we professional men must occasion- 
ally stretch the truth. 

Mary. Yes, Fve noticed that. 

G. P. Is this true? 

Doc. I leave it to the ladies themselves. 

Clem. But that doesn't excuse your leaving Pol- 
lyanna. 

Mary. Yes, what about Pollyanna? 

Doc. Pollyanna is a pet parrot. 

Mary. A parrot You can scarcely expect 

us to believe that you have been paying a parrot's 
board. 

Doc. Clementine — is Pollyanna a parrot ? 

Clem. Swears like one. 

Doc. Mrs. Merrivale thought her parrot was sick. 

Mr. Merrivale. She was sick. We were both 
sick. 

Clem. Yes, and she foolishly took it to him and 
he pawned it. 

Stokes. I feel I must rise in defense of my cli- 
ent — he did not pawn the parrot. 

Clem. He did too! Here's the pawn-ticket! 

Stokes. This gentleman — (Points to Chubj — 
pawned the parrot. 

Chub. (Startled and disgusted with Stokesj Oh 
— come now. (Exits r.u. with Stokes, j 

Clem. I never did like his looks. 

Mrs. Merrivale. Neither did I — but I thought 
he looked that way because he was sick. 

Doc. However, I will pay for his indiscretion. 
How much is it? 

Clem. Three dollars and ninety cents and five 
dollars — whatever that comes to. 

Doc. (Feeling in pockets) Dear me — I didn't 
have a chance to go to the bank. Clem grunts.) 

G. P. How much do you need? 

Doc. How much is it? 

G. P. Here — here's ten dollars. 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE 105 

Doc. (Crosses to her) Here, Clementine, is ten 
dollars. 

Clem. I ain't got no change. 

Doc. You may keep the change. And now, Clem- 
entine, before you go, will you assure this — (Looks 
first at Mary^ then at Groupj — party — that you 
have no claim on me whatsoever ? 

Clem. Claim! She's welcome to you — believe 
me! 

Mary. You're too kind. 

Clem. Tastes differ! Now that you've given up 
your rooms, what will I do with your things ? 

Doc. You mean those silk-what-do-you-call-'em ? 
You can have those, Clementine. 

Clem. How dare you ! I am a decent girl. (Starts 
to go, WHISTLE blows.) 

Mrs. Merrivale. I don't see anything wrong in 
silk lingerie. 

Clem. All right, then — ^you wear 'em. 

Steward. (Entering R.u.j All ashore — all 
ashore Are you making the trip, young lady? 

Clem. Not with that bunch! (Clem exits r.i.) 

Steward. (To Mrs. MerrivaleJ May I help 
you off the boat, madam? 

Mrs. Merrivale. The Admiral, I suppose ? (She 
is very coquettish with him.) 

Steward. (Laughs foolishly) What's the matter 
with you? You don't look so well. 

Mrs. Merrivale. Oh, Captain, I'm very frail — 
heart trouble, lungs affected, hardly any stomach, 
and Captain, you ought to see my poor liver. 

Steward. I'll look you up the next time I come 
to New York. (Both exit r.i, laughing foolishly 
at each other.) 

Doc. Did I explain everything to your satisfac- 
tion? 

G. P. (Crosses to DocJ I admit, for a moment 
she had me worried. Of course, I knew in my heart 



io6 MARY'S ANKLE actiii 

that you wouldn't do anything underhanded- 



That's one thing about him, Mary — he's above board 
— he inherits that. If there's one thing I cannot tol- 
erate — it's deception. 

Mary. How can you stand there and listen to 
that? 

Doc. Yes, I think Fd better go. (Mrs. Burns 
enters from Nmnher Three,) 

G. P. (Seeing her) Excuse me. Ready for our 
walk, Mary? 

Mrs. Burns. Yes, George. (They go off r.uJ 

Mary. You're a brute. (Enter Steward r.u. mitk 
huge bouquet of flowers. Doc goes to l. of steamer- 
chair.) 

Steward. With the Captain's compliments — for 
the bride. 

Mary. (Furiously, to DocJ There you are. 

Doc. I think that's very charming of the Captain. 

Mary. You do? Well, you take them — (Throws 
bouquet on deck at Doc's feet. To Stewardj — and 
you tell the Captain I don't want his compliments. 

Steward. (To Doc J Squally weather so soon, 
sir? (Steward starts to exit R.i.) 

Mary. Call him back, please. 

Doc. Steward. 

Steward. Yes, sir. 

Doc. The lady wants to speak to you. 

Steward. (To her) Your husband says you 
wish to speak to me. 

Mary. My husband ! Who told you I was mar- 
ried? 

Steward. Everybody on the boat knows it by 
now. 

Mary. (Definitely) I'm not married, I tell you. 

Steward. Not married (Looks significantly 

at bridal suite) Are you sure? 

Mary. Did you ever hear of anything so ridicu- 
lous? Must I prove that I'm not married? What 



ACT III MARY^S ANKLE 107 

right have you to accuse me of such a thing? Fm 
not married and that settles it. 

Steward. I'm sorry you told me that, Miss. 

Mary. Why? 

Steward. I must report it to the Captain. 

Mary. That's exactly what I want you to do. 

Steward. I'm afraid there will be some trouble 
about the room. 

Mary. Why should there be any trouble about 
the room? 

Steward. (Embarrassed) Well — ^ma'm — they're 
very strict about that sort of thing on this line. 
(Exits R.I. Ad lib, '7 do wish you hadn't told me.'') 

Mary. (In a temper. Realizing what he means) 
Oh! How dare you insult me like that? Are you 
going to stand by and allow him to say such things 
to me ? (She starts to cry,) 

Doc. (Goes to chair and puts arm around Mary's 
shoulder) Why, Mary, you're crying. Please don't 
cry — I can't stand that. 

Mary. You've compromised me dreadfully. 

Doc. I wouldn't do that for the world. 

Mary. But you have done it. (Doc reaches for 
his handkerchief and pulls out her stocking. She 
throws it on the deck; cries again,) 

Doc. (Crossing r.) Well, I'll go — I'll leave the 
ship. 

Mary. And have everyone say — you deserted me ? 
I should say not. 

Doc. What do you want me to do, then ? 

Mary. Tell them we're not married. (Enter 
Stokes r.i.) 

Doc. Why did you desert me just now? 

Stokes. I thought I had better go and give you a 
clear field. 

Doc, Don't mix your metaphors, Stokes. We are 
on a ship and if you want to clear anything — clear 
the decks for action. 



io8 MARY'S ANKLE act m 

Chub. (Entering r.i) Hey! Fellows! There's 
an awful scandal on board. I just heard the Stew- 
ard talking to the Captain. It seems two fellows 
and a girl have the bridal suite and they're not mar- 
ried. (Mary screams.) The Captain said some- 
thing about putting them in irons. What do you 
say? Let's stick around and see what comes off. 

Mary. (Exasperated and in tears) Oh! Oh! 
Are you going to tell him now or are you not ? 

Doc. (Starts up) I am going now. 

Stokes. Now. (Looks at watch) You don't mean 

exactly now (Stokes is c. Chub is r. of 

Stokes. Doc is r. of Mary.^ 

Doc. Mary says now, but before I go — I swear 
to you, Mary Jane Smith 

Chub. (To him) Doc — ^you're all wrong. This 
isn't Mary Jane Smith 

Doc. Chub — ^you don't want to see me tried for 
murder, do you? 

Chub. No. 

Doc. Then keep away from me, that's all. 

Mary. I'll scream if you don't go. 

Doc. I'm going. (He exits r.u. Stokes, looking 
at watch and hoping to kill time until the boat sails,) 

Chub. (To Stokesj But Stokes — you don't un- 
derstand — the aunt is Mary Jane Smith. 

Mary. I am Mary Jane Smith ! 

Chub. What? 

Mary. And I know about the invitations and 
whose name was used and whose idea it was, and I 
wouldn't have too much to say if I were you. 

Chub. I — I (Looks from one to the other) 

I— I 

Stokes. For the i&rst time in his life he's speech- 
less. (NOISE of argument off r.u. Enter, r.u.. Doc, 
running at full speed. G. P. can be heard off stage; 
is very angry.) 

Doc. I told him. 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE 109 

Stokes. What is he going to do ? 

Doc. I think he's going to sink the ship. 

Chub. Did he say anything? 

Doc. Plenty — he's saying it yet. 

G. P. (Enters r.u., followed by Mrs. Burns, mho 
goes to Maryj You infernal scoundrel ! (LIGHTS 
slowly dim. First border out. Foots two-thirds 
down. Back border down and out.) I'll disown 
you — that's what I'll do. (Goes to where the Three 
Boys are.) 

Doc. Uncle — ^please — not here. 

G. P. Yes — right here — now — I'll expose you for 
the unprincipled dog that you are. Make a fool of 
me, will you ? You and your unscrupulous friends ! 
(Chub and Stokes back against cabin wall on words 
''unscrupulous friends/') 

Doc. (To him) Not so loud. I'm going. 

G. P. Get off the ship before I throw you off. 

Chub. (Coming to G. P.) Just a minute, sir. It's 
really my fault. 

G. P. Then I'll throw you off too. (Chub backs 
away, frightened.) 

Stokes. (To G. P.) We're all equally to blame. 

G. P. (Grabbing Stokes by the collar and shak- 
ing him) Oh! You're getting noble about it now. 
You're all crooks and I'll have you put in jail — the 
whole nasty crew of you. 

Doc. (To G. P.) Please don't cause a scene like 
this, sir. (Mrs. Burns enters the group. She has 
been talking to Mary and they have apparently ar- 
rived at an understanding.) 

G. P. And why should I show you any consid- 
eration ? 

Doc. I'm thinking of the ladies. 

G. P. So am I. You've insulted the niece of the 
woman I'm going to marry 

Mrs. Burns. (To hint) Just a minute, George. 



no MARY'S ANKLE actiii 

I think you take things just a bit too much for 
granted. 

G. P. In what way? 

Mrs. Burns. I'm not so sure Fm going to marry 
you. 

G. P. Mary — ^please don't say that. You can't 
blame me for what my nephew has done. 

Mrs. Burns. No — ^but I can blame you for what 
you are doing to your nephew. If you can't control 
your temper in a case of this kind 

G. P. But do you realize what he has done? But 
you can't. Why, he sent oiit wedding invitations 
and used Mary's name. 

Mary. But he didn't know it was my name. 

Doc. (To her) You're wonderful — I didn't know 
anyone could be such a brick. 

Mrs. Burns. If he hadn't been so close with 
you in money matters you wouldn't have had to do 
it, would you? 

Doc. No — I was desperate for money. Wasn't I, 
boys ? 

Stokes and Chub. (With exaggerated sympathy) 

I should say you were. Didn't have a nickel 

(Ad lib,) 

Mary. (To G. P.) He was almost starving, while 
you were living in the lap of luxury. 

Mrs. Burns. The poor boy! (Putting hand on 
Dock's shoulder, Mary and Mrs. Burns look sym- 
pathetically at Doc. Stokes and Chub place hands 
on Doc. G. P. is completely nonplussed and keeps 
twirling his hat nervously,) 

G. P. Well, of course, I had no idea he was as 
hard up as that. Why, dog-gone it, you all make 
me feel that I'm the culprit and he's the hero. You 
seem to see things dififerent than I do. I guess I'm 
all out of focus. I won't make the trip. I'll go 
back where I belong. (Starts to move.) 

Mrs. Burns. George! How little you have 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE iii 

changed. It was the same when you left me twenty- 
years ago. 

G. P. (To her) You can't think much of me. If 
you are going to let that scamp come between us. 

Mrs. Burns. That's just what I was thinking. 
(Goes back to Mary's side.) 

Doc. Uncle George, don't, please don't let my 
ridiculous escapade spoil your romance. It was a 
preposterous scheme. 

G. P. Then you admit it was preposterous ! 

Doc. Yes, sir. I didn't realize just how prepos- 
terous until I received Aunt Jane's present. 

G. P. (Smiles in spite of himself) What was 
that? A nightie — wasn't it? 

Doc. Yes, sir — a nightie — for the bride. 

G. P. That was funny. (Laughs) And Aunt 
Margaret sent a handsome kimona. Ha! Ha! 

Doc. Also for the bride ! 

Mrs. Burns. I didn't hear about that. 

G. P. Kimonas and lingerie and all sorts of 
pretties — for the bride. 

Doc. Nothing for the groom. 

G. P. Not a thing! 

Mary. Even your check is made out to me. 

Chub. Then you did come across? 

G. P. Oh, ho — so you were in on that, too? 

Chub. Yes, it was my idea! 

G. P. It was, eh? Then why did you allow me 
to get two tickets ? (To Doc. ) 

Doc. Well — ^you see — that 

Mary. That was my idea. When you said you 
had two tickets, I suggested that our attorney come 
along. 

G. P. There seems to be a general conspiracy with 
me as the financial goat. 

(WHISTLE. LONG BLAST. BELL. The boat 
starts, or rather the drop at back starts moving 



112 MARY'S ANKLE actiii 

the effect of movement. The back drop is on 
a windlass and moves along, giving the effect 
of ship moving. The scene is the skyline of 
New York and then the bay.) 

Chub. The boat's going ! Let me off ! I have no 
ticket! What will I do? 

Stokes. (Grabbing ChubJ You said we treated 
you as if you had the smallpox — so we'll drop you 
at Quarantine. 

Chub. I wish you all luck. I'll go and see the 
Captain about getting off. 

Doc. Where are you going when you do get off, 
Chub? 

Chub. Search me. 

G. P. You broke, too? 

Chub. Oh, I'll get along — all right 

G. P. I thought you were interested in Wall 
Street? 

Chub. I was, sir — interested. 

Doc. In a futuristic way. 

G. P. I see Well, I tell you, young man — 

perhaps I can use you as my secretary. Anybody 
with your ideas might be valuable. 

Chub. (Crosses to him) You mean that, sir? 

G. P. I don't bluff. 

Doc. I know who I have to thank for this- 

You're the most wonderful, the sweetest, finest 

(To Mrs. Burns.) 

Stokes. (To AuntieJ You know what I said — 
"Me for Auntie." Isn't she a wonder? (Takes Mrs. 
Burns' arm.) 

G. P. That will do. I've forgiven you boys once. 
Don't start anything more. (Crossing to rail of 
steamer with Mrs. Burns. LIGHTS dim down to 
Blues. SPOTS on.) 

Doc. Boys, there's a lovely view right around the 
deck. 



itaim 



ACT III MARY'S ANKLE 113 

Chub. I like the view here. 

Stokes. O.K. Come on — Chub. (Exits r.i. Doc 
gets steamer-chair fror/i rail and places it at Mart's 
R. The chairs are close together.) 

Mrs. Burns. I think the sky Hne of New York 
from the deck of a steamer is the most beautiful 
sight in the world. 

G. P. You do? That's because you can't see 
what I see! 

Mrs. Burns. How sweet of you. (G. P. takes 
her hand and they exit R.u.j 

Doc. He ought to see what I see. 

Mary. You mean my ankle ? (WARN Curtain.) 

Doc. No, I mean Mary Jane Smith. 

Mary. That is an awful name when you think 
of it. 

Doc. It certainly is. Fd change it if I were you. 
By the way, where is that check Uncle gave you? 

Mary. I have it right here — ^why? 

Doc. I was just thinking you can't cash that un- 
less you marry me. 

Mary. Who said I wanted to cash it ? 

Doc. What is the check for? 

Mary. For a wedding present. 

Doc. No — I mean — what's the amount? 

Mary. It's for ten thousand dollars. 

Doc. (Sitting up quickly) Ten thousand dollars ! 
Mary, listen to reason. (Doc takes out stateroom 
tickets) Here I am with a bridal suite and no 
bride? Won't you take this? 

Mary. What? 

Doc. For yourself and your aunt. 

Mary. I wouldn't occupy that room for this ten 
thousand dollars — after all the notoriety I've been 
subjected to. (Gives them back to him.) 

Doc. (After a short pause) Well, what will I do 
with this check, Mary — ^tear it up ? 



114 MARY'S ANKLE actiii 

Mary. (Reaching out her hand and taking check, 
smiling) No — no — it's no use tearing it up. (He 
reaches over and kisses her.) 

CURTAIN 



"MARY'S ANKLE" 

PROPERTY PLOT 

ACT I 

Interior Doctor^s Office and Living Room 

On Stage: 

Ground cloth. 
Medallion. 
Two smaller rugs. 

Practical window-shades on windows R. and L. 
Cretonne curtains on windows r. and L. 
Small table l. above window. 
Chair on each side. 
Magazines on small table l. 
Chaise lounge L. made up as bed- 
Two sheets. 
Pillow. 
Counterpane. 
Small stool r. of lounge. 
Armchair up l. of closet. 
Three sofa pillows in armchair — one to be small 

and lace covered. 
Three hooks on closet door up c. 
Shelf in closet with hooks underneath and 
Clothes hangers in closet. 
Cretonne-covered chest in closet. 
Suitcase in closet. 
Chiffonier r. of closet. 
Key in door Center. 

"5 



ii6 PROPERTY PLOT 

On Chiffonier: 

Two candlesti.cks. 

Mirror. 

Doilie or cloth. 

Cretonne-covered screen r. of chiffonier. 
Flat-topped desk down r. with drawers. 
Upholstered chair, cretonne-covered, l. of table or 

desk. 
Armchair r. of table or desk. 

On the Desk: 

20 Pawn-tickets in drawer of desk. 
Three empty beer bottles. 
Doctor's medical case. 
Chafing dish. 

Two Doctor's thermometers in glass. 
Matchstand. 
Ashtray. 

Appointment-book. 
Pads. 

Desk-blotter. 
Pens. 

Pencils in brass holder. 
Note paper in brass holder. 
Big brass letter-opener. 
Two pair Doctor's scissors. 
Brass calendar-holder. 

Washstand and porcelain basin up r. of desk. 
Towel-rack above basin. 
Two soiled towels on towel-rack. 
Doctor's operating table r. of desk. 
One pillow for operating table. 
One sheet for operating table. 
Doctor's operating stool r. of table. 
Doctor's cabinet extreme r. filled with bottles of 
different sizes and bandages. 



PROPERTY PLOT 117 

On top of cabinet: 
Two small medical cases. 
Two rolls of bandages. 
One roll adhesive plaster. 
One bottle smelling-salts. 

Doctor's medical stand below cabinet — ^glass top. 
Medical instruments for Doctor's stand. 

In Bathroom, Up Stage Right: 

Set bowl, practical. 

Towel-rack above. 

Two clean bath-towels on rack. 

Glass. 

Toothbrush. 

Tooth-powder. 

Mirror which draws out. 

Brush. 

Comb. 

Pictures on flats in set. 

Doctor's diploma. 

Off Stage u—Act I: 

Parrot on perch or in cage for Mrs. Merrivale. 

Cane for Mrs. Merrivale. 

Carpet-sweeper for Clem. 

Dustpan and feather duster for Qem. 

Brush for Clem. 

Two clean towels for Clem. 

Telephone directory, New York. 

Three one-dollar bills, for Chub. 

One quarter, for Chub. 

One nickel, for Chub. 

Six dimes, for Chub. 

Cracker for parrot, for Mrs. Merrivale. 

Pawn-ticket, for Chub. 

Six letters. 



ii8 PROPERTY PLOT 

Tag Day flags, for Mary. 
Bag for Mary. 
Newspaper for Chub. 

ACT II 

Same Set as Act I 

On Stage: 

Small lace-covered pillow at foot of stool R. of 

lounge. 
Screen r. of chiffonier taken over r. and set to cover 

operating table. 
Doctor's operating stool and basin and stand — to be 

taken off. 
Doctor's medical book down stage end of table — on 

table. 
Wedding invitations in two envelopes on table, 

down stage end. 
Doctor's medical case up stage end of table on floor. 
Piece of iron under rug — so as to break glass vase 

or punch bowl. 

Off Stage: 

Telegram. 

Hospital reports. 

Pipe. 

Tobacco-pouch. 

Cigarette-box with one cigarette (Egyptian). 

Medical book. 

Expressman's book and pencil. 

Seven assorted express packages. 

Effect of automobile collision. 

Horns. 

Glass crash, etc. 

Doorbell. 

Grip for G. P. 

Wedding invitation for G. P. 

Stage money for G. P. 



PROPERTY PLOT 119 

Notebook for Stokes. 

7 Express packages — each package to contain one 
of these articles with cards enclosed: 

A beautiful nightdress. 

A Japanese kimona. 

A pair of fancy pajamas. 

A small case of jewels. 

Three pieces of lingerie. 

Glass vase or punch bowl (cut glass) to break. 

Towels and linen. 
Small notepad for Doc. 
Electric fan back of window. L. 
Vacuum cleaner, 

ACT III 

Deck of the Steamship Bermudian 

On Stage: 

Ground cloth. 

Two life-preservers on rail of ship. 

In Bridal Suite: 
Brass bed made up. 
Chiffonier. 

Two pedestal stands in windows r. and l.^ with glass 
vases to hold flowers. 

In Stateroom N-umher Three: 

Regular ship's bunk, upper and lower made up (op- 
tional). 
Book and box of candy on lower bunk. 
Hat tree. 
Mirror (optional). 

Off Stage: 

In R. First Entrance: 

Steamer-chair, with steamer-rug tacked to back. 

Steamer-rug on arm of steamer-chair. 



I20 PROPERTY PLOT 

Back of Bridal Suite up c : 

Rollchair (invalid). 

Champagne basket. 

Large candy-box. 

Six large bouquets. 

Two baskets of fruit. 

Steamer-chair. 

Traveling-bag. 

Suitcase. 

Dinner-gong for Steward. 

Cigars for G. P. 

Checkbook for G. P. 

Fountain-pen for G. P. 

Steamship tickets for G. P. 

Telegram for Clem. 

Pawn-tickets for Clem. 

Cane for Mrs. Merrivale. 

Ship's bell. 

Boat whistle l. first entrance. 

Rainbox. 

Magazines for Mrs. Burns, 



"MARY'S ANKLE'^ 

PUBLICITY THROUGH YOUR LOCAL 
PAPERS 

The press can be an immense help in giving pub- 
licity to your productions. In the belief that the best 
reviews from the New York and other large papers 
are always interesting to local audiences, and in 
order to assist you, we are printing below several 
excerpts from those reviews. 

To these we have also added a number of sug- 
gested press notes which may be used either as they 
stand or changed to suit your own ideas and sub- 
mitted to the local press. 

"The play is light, frequently gay, and really 
funny." — ''New York Times." 

" 'Mary's Ankle' deals with a completely prepos- 
terous idea and many absurd situations, which is 
the stuff of which all good farces are made. It has 
novelty of treatment and more than a few hilarious 
situations." — ''New York World/' 

" 'Mary's Ankle' arrived briskly in New York 
last night. It is a farce of youth, financial need and 
a compound fracture of a honeymoon. It is a play 
in which many will find real amusement." — ^'New 
York Herald/' 

"From 'The Three Musketeers' to *La Boheme' 
down to 'Mary's Ankle' the spectacle of three youths 
in a harum-scarum, helter-skelter, undaunted and 
generally ineffective struggle with poverty has fur- 
nished always delectable scenes. 'Mary's Ankle' 

121 



122 PRESS MATTER 

proved to be a bright little farce/' — ''New York 
Evening Sun.'' 

"'Mary's Ankle' perfectly lady-like. Alan Dale 
finds amusement, fresh situations and droll dialogue. 
We laughed at 'Mary's Ankle' and that is precisely 
all we were intended to do." — ''New York Ameri- 
can/' 

"New Yorkers had their first view of 'Mary's 
Ankle' last night and the humor is the sort usually 
described as 'riotous.' The fun was fast and furi- 
ous and kept the audience in almost constant laugh- 
ter." — "New York Journal," 

"The big virtue of 'Mary's Ankle' lies in the fact 
that it is most amusing, full of laughs and a sure 
gloom chaser. And what more can a person wish? 
The theatre's chief mission, after all, is to entertain. 
If it can also educate or preach a moral, so much 
the better. But entertainment's the thing." — "New 
York Globe/' 

"The best example of farce given us since 'Seven 
Days.' " — "Atlantic City Gazette-Review." 

"There is brisk and peppery fun a plenty in 
'Mary's Ankle.' Strangely enough, there is not an 
immodest situation or an indelicate suggestion in 
the whole performance. It is one of the cleanest 
and most hilariously amusing plays in recent years." 
—■"Boston Globe." 

" 'Mary's Ankle,' a farce, has the sterling merit of 
being both vastly amusing and absolutely clean. 
There is not even a suspicion of suggestiveness 
from start to finish. The characters are all well 
drawn and full of comedy touches, the dialogue 
fairly sparkles and the situations which come quick 
on top of each other are very funny." — "New York 
Review." 

"May TuUy took her place last night with Mar- 
garet Mayo and Claire Kummer as a writer of clever 
farce. Her play, 'Mary's Ankle,' is altogether amus- 



PRESS MATTER 123 

ing and without deadly moments." — ^'Boston Jour- 
nal/' 

" 'Mary's Ankle' supplies the title to a very fresh 
and airy farce. Contrary to what the title might 
lead some persons to believe, it is devoid of impro- 
priety, coarseness and double entendre. It is as 
fresh and wholesome as the East Wind." — ''Boston 
American/' 

"A bright, clean-cut, laugh-provoking farce. The 
story is at all times amusing, ingenuous and within 
the range of possibility." — Edward Harold Crosby, 
''Boston Post/' 

" 'Mary's Ankle' is an entertaining farce. Despite 
the feminine authorship — May Tully wrote it — the 
humor is masculine." — "Boston Transcript/' 

"Twin Beds' was funny. Turn To the Right' 
was, if possible, more so, likewise The Boomer- 
ang.' And now 'Mary's Ankle.' There is more hu- 
mor in the latter. It is an exhilaration of laughter." 
— "Atlantic City Daily Press/' 



In submitting "Mary's Ankle" for the delectation 

of the public the Players are thoroughly 

mindful of the fact that the local theatregoers want 
their entertainment clean as well as funny. There is 
not a line nor a situation in this sparkling comedy 
to which exception can be taken, and yet it will stir 
your risibilities to the Nth de^ee. It has been a 
great favorite throughout the country, both as a 
touring attraction and in the stock companies. It 
has at last been released for amateur use owing 
to the great demand from all over the country, and 

the Players have made a ten-strike in 

securing the right to present it here. 

So we urge all those who delight in clean, whole- 
some fun to foregather at the Theatre 

on evening and revel in an evening of 

continuous laughter. 



124 PRESS MATTER 

SYNOPSIS 

"Mary's Ankle" is the story of ambitious but 
impecuniary youth. "Doc" Hampton, without a pa- 
tient, "Stoksie," a lawyer devoid of clients, and 
"Chub" Perkins, a financier with only schemes for 
capital, are in a bad way. In fact, they are broke 
and it is almost a problem of how to obtain food. 
Only the fact that "Doc's" landlady, Mrs. Merrivale, 
makes a specialty of having diseases to which he 
gives his professional attention makes it possible to 
keep the roof over his head. 

Mary Jane Smith is the heroine with the ankle. 
The three pals meet her first as a solicitor of funds 
for the poor and again as the victim of an auto- 
mobile accident. 

A rich relative, "Doc's" uncle, inclined to be a 
tightwad but good at heart, comes into the scene and 
seeing Mary, immediately takes it for granted that 
she is his nephew's wife, having been informed by 
a bogus wedding invitation that the ceremony has 
just taken place. 

It was "Chub's" idea to get the family "back 
home" in the West to send wedding presents that 
could be pawned. What do they bring? Nothing 
but gifts for the bride, and mostly wearing apparel 
at that. * 

The injured Mary proves to be the Mary Jane 
Smith of the wedding announcements, and from 
then on the farce moves hilariously for the audi- 
ence and tragically for the boys, especially "Doc," 
who has "fallen" completely for Mary. 

The Uncle has come East after twenty years to 
meet an old sweetheart, and as his wedding present 
insists that "Doc" and Mary accompany him to 
Bermuda. The situation is tense, but Mary has a 
sense of humor. Mary is a grand old name and this 



PRESS MATTER 125 

Mary is a grand girl. She jumps into the breach 
and saves the day, but not without keeping the boy^ 
guessing as to whether or not she will give them 
away to the now ferocious Uncle. 



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ARE YOU A MASON? 

Taree in 8 acts. By Leo Ditrichsteiii. 7 mahsy 7 t^ 
ualefl. Modem costumes. Plays 2% hours. 1 interior. 

"Are Yon a Mason t" is one of thoie delightful farces lik^ 
^'Oharley's Aunt*' that are always fresh. *'A mother and i 
daughter/' says the critic of the New York Herald, "had hiU' 
bands who account for absences from the joint household on 
frequent evenings, falsely pretending to be Masons. The meli 
do not know each other's duplicity, and each tells his wife of 
having advanced to leadership in his lodge. The older woman 
was so well pleased with her husband's supposed distinction Iti 
the order that she made him promise to put up the name of H 
▼Isiting friend for membership. Further perplexity over the 
principal liar arose when a suitor for his second daughter's hand 
proved to be a real Mason. ... To tell the story of the plaf 
would require volumes, its complications are so numerous. It i0 
A house of cards* One card wrongly placed and the whole thing 
would collapse. But it stands, an example of remarkable fnp- 
Cenuity. You wonder at the end of the first act how the fna 
«an be kept up on such a slender foundation. But it continiMil 
And grows to the last curtain." One of the most hilarioushr 
•musing farces ever written, especially suited to schools and 
ICasonic Lodges. (Boyalty, twenty-five dollars.) Frioe, T6 CenH^ 



KEMPY 

K delightful comedy in 3 acts. By J. 0. Nugent and 
Elliott Nugent. 4 malesi 4 females. 1 interior throughout. 
Costumes, modem. Plays 2% hours. 

No wonder "Kempy" has been such a tremendous hit in New 
York, Chicago — ^wherever it has played. It snaps with wit and 
humor of the most delightful kind. It's electric. It's smalK 
town folk perfectly pictured. Full of types of varied sorts, each 
one done to a turn and served with zestful sauce. An ideal 
entertainment for amusement purposes. The story is about a high- 
falutin' daughter who in a fit of pique marries the young plumber- 
Architect, who comes to fix the water pipes, just because he 
"understands" her, having read her book and having sworn to 
marry the authoress. But in that story lies all the humor that 
kept the audience laughing every second of every act. Of course 
there are lots of ramifications, each of which bears its own brand 
of laughter-making potentials. But the plot and the story are 
not the main things. There is, for instance, the work of the 
company. The fun g^rowing out of this family mixup is lively and 
^ean. (Boyalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents, 



SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York Oty 
Our New Descriptive Catalogue Sent Free on Request 



FRENCH'S 
Standard Library Edition 



Oeorge M. Cohan 
WIncliell Smith 
Booth Tarkington 
WUilam Gillette 
Frank Craven 
Owen Davis 
Austin Strong 
A. A. Milne 
Harriet Ford 
Paul Green 
James Montgomery 
Arthur Richman 
Philip Barry 
George Middleton 
banning Pollock 
6eorge Kaufman 
llarthi Flavhi 
Victor Mapes 
Kate Douglas WIggin 
Rkla Johnson Young 
Margaret Mayo 
tfiol Cooper Megrue 
Jean Webster 
'^ tteorge Broadhurst 
Oeorge Hobart 
Frederick S. Isham 
Fred Ballard 
Percy MacKaye 
WUiard Mack 
Jerome K. Jerome 
R. C. Carton 
William Cary Duncan 
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 



Includes Plays by 

Augustus Thomas 
Rachel Crothers 
W. W. Jacobs 
Ernest Denny 
Kenyon Nicholson 
Aaron Hoffman 
H. V. Esmond 
Edgar Selwyn 
Laurence Housman 
Israel Zangwill 
Walter Hackett 
A. E. Thomas 
Edna Ferber 
John Henry Mears 
Mark Swan 
John B. Stapleton 
Frederick Lonsdalo 
Bryon Ongley 
Rex Beach 
Paul Armstrong 
H. A. Du Souchet 
George Ade 
J. Hartley Manners 
Barry Conners 
Edith Ellis 
Harold Brighouse 
Harvey J. O'Hlggins 
Clare Kummer 
James Forbes 
William C. DeMllle 
Thompson Buchanan 
C. Haddon Chambers 
Richard Harding Davis 



George Kelly 
Louis N. Parker 
Anthony Hope 
Lewis Beach 
Guy Bolton 
Edward E. Rose 
Marc Connelly 
Frederick Paulding 
Lynn Starling 
Clyde Fitch 
Earl Derr Diggers 
Thomas Broadhurst 
Charles Klein 
Bayard Veiller 
Grace L. Furniss 
Martha Morton 
Robert Housum 
Carlisle Moore 
Salisbury Field 
Leo Dietrlchstein 
Harry James Smith 
Eden Phillpotts 
Brandon Tynan 
Clayton Hamilton 
Edward Sheldon 
Richard Ganthony 
Julie Lippman 
Paul Dickey 
Frank Bacon 
Edward Paulton 
Adelaide Matthews 
A. E. W. Mason 
Cosmo Gordon-Lennox 



Catherine Chisholm Cushing J. C. and Elliott Nugent 
Edward Childs Carpenter Justin Huntley McCarthy 

Madeline Lucette Ryley Josephine Preston Peabody 

French's International Copyrighted Edition contains plays, comedies 

and farces of international reputation; also recent professional successes 

by famous American and English Authors. 

Our new descriptive Catalogue 
sent free en request 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

FOUNDED 1845 INCORPORATED 1899 

Oldest Play Publisher in the World 



35 West 45th Street, 



NEW YORK CITY 



